


A Rake, A Spinster, and An Arrangement

by melanoradrood



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Muggle, Alternate Universe - Regency, Bridgerton AU, F/M, Inspired by Bridgerton (TV), It's probably going to end up E tbh, Married Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, More tags to be added, Regency, Regency Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-18 11:47:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 41,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28991673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melanoradrood/pseuds/melanoradrood
Summary: Rules are the very foundation of Regency London. Everyone is raised to them, and they understand their role, their purpose. A young marriageable lady must make the best choice for her future and her family. A young lord must make the best selection for healthy heirs and a sizeable dowry.Enter Hermione (Granger) Potter. Having previously avoided a number of seasons, she knows that if she is to achieve her dreams, she must make a match, and quickly, lest her secret become too much for gossip to handle. An advantageous match, made quickly, can save her from becoming a Spinster, and allow her the life she desires. She must attract attention... but only the right kind.Meanwhile, Draco Malfoy, Duke of Wiltshire, has no interest in marrying. In fact, the very last thing he wants is to attract the attention of any woman - but, it seems as though his friends will no longer allow him to sit outside of society, brooding far away from his responsibility. They insist he must court, if not wed. The answer, when it falls into his lap, is Hermione Granger.If only their arrangement had stayed as such... BRIDGERTON AU
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 247
Kudos: 330





	1. Prologue : Lady Whistledown's Society Papers - 6 April 1813

**Dearest Readers,** it is my greatest pleasure to welcome you to the start of this Season. For those of you that are not aware, I am Lady Whistledown. You do not know who I am, and you should not bother trying to find out. And in fact, I know who you are. I know every single one of you.

And those secrets you are trying to keep? Do not worry, I’ll be sure to spread them just as soon as they occur.

But first, introductions are in order, for with the coming of a new season, comes a whole host of newcomers to the city. While some do reside here within London throughout the year, many respectable families wait until the Spring to join us all for the balls, the festivities, the events, and the gossip. It would be best to find out now who has been spotted returning to London, so that tonight, at The Dowager Duchess of Nottingham’s ball, we will  _ all _ know who they are.

Speaking of the former Miss Pansy Parkinson, she has been spotted not wearing her mourning clothes, a first after the untimely death of her husband just a few months ago. You will all remember that she was quickly married to Duke Thaddeus Nott of Nottingham two seasons ago, despite the fact that he already had a son and heir, the still very single and eligible Theodore Nott. 

And, to make matters more interesting, The Dowager Duchess, although she refuses to be called such things and insists on being called  _ Lady Parkinson _ , has been seen accepting not one, but two young men into her home. The first is suspected to be Marquees Zabini, who is of course well known at all of the clubs. He is a long time friend of the Dowager Duchess Nott’s, and I refuse to call her by her preferred name if for no other reason than to draw a rise from her, and to Lady Nott’s step-son. The other guest was spotted at just a glance, with hair far too light to be the newly instated Duke. Who was it, dear readers? I do not know, but I shall soon find out.

Who is it that will be residing within Nottingham House? We shall soon find out…

Another who has recently returned to the city, although it is no surprise, is the very large family of Baron Weasley. Indeed, the past three seasons have gone well for the family, with the marriage of a son two years past, and the year before that, and the marriage of their daughter to Viscount Potter of Bath just last season. Indeed, it was no surprise that they were wed quickly, as the Viscount and the Weasley’s youngest son were schoolmates, and the Viscount a frequent visitor at their estate. Which Weasley boy will have his turn to win the heart of a young lady this year? A pity, given their good looks, that they do not come from much money...

Speaking of Viscountess Genevra Potter, however, there is another newcomer into the city, one who was spotted with the Viscountess,  _ without _ her mother nearby. It is questionable, as to whom the newly married Viscountess would accompany to the dress shop with no other older woman in sight. Are the Potters sponsoring a young debutante this season? We shall have to find out more about her, but every mama that saw her has already commented on how polite and poised she was. I will tell you more as soon as I know it!

A great many other young girls were seen having the final touches added to their dresses as well. The Abbot girls, a family of so many, were all in attendance, along with their cousin, Miss Lavender Brown. The Patil Twins, both expected to have made a match last season, were also shopping for ribbon, although they did not have a fitting. The lovely Greengrass sisters were spotted last week making their finishing touches, although they do reside within the city all year round, so their presence is no surprise. 

And others, of course, but none to make note of thus far. Should any young debutante catch my eye, or catch gossip, I will tell you immediately, dear readers, as your knowledge is of the utmost importance - for when you know things, you say things, and then I shall find out.

I shall leave you with this question, dear readers. Which young girl will be the first to make a match? Which one will make the most advantageous marriage? And which, dear readers, will provide all of us the greatest scandal?

_ Yours Truly,  
_ **_Lady Whistledown_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UPDATE 2/9/2021: Updates will be on Tuesdays at 12pm PST, beginning February 16th. Expect 4-6 chapters PER episode of Bridgerton. 
> 
> ORIGINAL NOTE:  
> Yup. Y'all knew it was coming. Bridgerton AU.
> 
> I'm going to just start with the Prologue for today. Bookmark it now. Get excited. Ask questions. Idk.
> 
> I'm going to work on a posting schedule, once I get further ahead with writing. My gameplan, at present, is for me to write out one episode at a time, break it into manageable chapters, and then post the chapters every other day, to get through an episode. Once the posting schedule is set, I will let everyone know, but once we get going, I don't want anyone waiting on me for forever.
> 
> Please note, obviously, some things are different. Hermione does not have seven siblings. Draco does not have a Lady Danbury type figure. There's no Queen, because I couldn't decide who to pick. Things are a little different, however, it's Regency, it's fake dating, it's going to end up being tropey and smutty as the show.
> 
> If you're here because you've been reading my Saphne/Bridgerton fics, and you don't know Harry Potter, don't worry! Treat it as an original work! I do hope to maybe publish this because why not we can all have dreams, right?
> 
> You can find me on [tumblr](https://melanoradrood.tumblr.com/).


	2. Chapter 1 : A Tea Party (Ep1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
> 

**_Dearest Readers,_ ** _ in years past, I would have welcomed you to place your bets on the upcoming social season, for indeed, this would be the very day that every young lady would be presented. _

_ They would wear their finest gowns, their mamas proud at their side, and they would enter the room, announced officially to the ton, and subject themselves to the ever watchful gaze of our illustrious Queen. _

_ But alas, it is not to be this year, as our Queen is not in the best of health, but we shall all wish that she returns to us soon, for indeed, what is the social season without our Queen presiding over it? _

_ Instead, dearest readers, we shall have to make certain allowances, and accept that the first event of the season shall be one that men will not even take part of. No, instead it will be a Grand High Tea in the Gardens of one of the loveliest houses here in London. _

_ Our host, the Marchioness of Waterford, otherwise known as the Lady Andromeda Black Tonks, with a number of her closest friends, all of whom also hold the Queen’s ear. While she may not be here in truth, the Queen’s presence will still hold a heavy weight. _

_ It might not be the Queen’s gaze upon you, but surely, a few whispers into her ear…  _

_ Ah, well. Surely every young Lady can survive something as simple as a tea. We shall see, dear readers. We shall indeed see. _

_ Yours Truly,  _ _  
_ **_Lady Whistledown_ **

* * *

“I cannot do this,” Hermione whispered, standing in the front hall of Potter House. She was wearing a beautiful white gown, her hair pinned into place, ringlets falling down over her shoulders in a wild mess, and even a tiara in her hair.

They had not been worn for many years - Potters did not often have daughters - but Harry and Ginny both swore that they looked lovely on her.

When Hermione looked in the mirror, all she could see was a fraud.

“It’s just tea,” Ginny insisted, glancing towards the mirror herself. She tucked in a few strands of hair, and then twisted and turned, clearly pleased with what she saw. “You’ve had tea hundreds of times.”

“Not like this,” Hermione hissed, wanting to turn and run from the door, to keep from actually going forward with this.

“Exactly like this,” Ginny said with a roll of her eyes. “You present yourself, with me at your side, then we politely sip at tea, look at flowers, and chat with anyone that approaches.”

Hermione gave a nod, trying to tell herself that it was much the same thing… except it certainly was not. This was prim and proper. Past teas where she had to present herself were certainly… they were nothing like this. Before, they had been Hermione presenting herself as but a child, and then as a student, and eventually as a governess. Now, she was being presented as a young Lady in want of a husband.

In the past, she had only needed to be quiet and intelligent, a calming presence for small children. Now, she had to have the weight of society’s gaze rest upon her, had to impress every mama, had to fit into a mold that she had no right to step into.

“They will see straight through me,” Hermione insisted, looking to her sister-in-law, trying to hide her stress and failing.

“They will see what you want them to see. Show them that you are intelligent, yes, but show them that you were raised by Lily Potter to be an exceptional young lady. Show them that you have all the proper breeding that they require. Allow them to answer the questions they are asking themselves - are you  _ worthy _ of joining them.”

Hermione already knew the answer to that -  _ no _ . She had never been good enough for the Blacks, even though she had done nothing wrong. She had not even yet been born, and yet, they had rejected her, refusing to even recognize her existence. 

“Hermione,” Ginny said, snapping her fan in her face. “Do not fret. Besides, there will be no gentlemen here. You simply present yourself, receive the approval of a matron or two, and then we shall be away.”

Hermione nodded and turned to the door, watching as it opened. There were a great many other carriages lined up in Grosvenor Square, all heading to the same garden party, and Hermione could only hope to blend in among them. Perhaps no one had read the Society Papers… Perhaps no one had any interest as to who it was that Ginny Potter was presenting this day.

Or perhaps she was fooling herself, just as surely as she was attempting to fool the Ton. She was no young debutante, was barely even a Lady, even with all of the late Viscountess Lily Potter’s best attempts. She was just a Governess, hidden in the midst of Society.

“This is going to be a disaster,” Hermione whispered, stepping out onto the landing, and down towards the carriage that was sure to lead her to her downfall.

* * *

“That was incredible!” Ginny gasped, her arm tightly wrapped with Hermione’s. “Honestly, I don’t know how you did it, but you charmed them all! Hermione, the little joke about the flowers and the bees? You shall be the talk of all the Ton this entire season from that joke alone!”

Hermione still felt as though she was walking on a cloud, her feet simply carrying her as they walked from the carriage up the front steps to Potter House. Everything over the past few hours felt like a dream, and as the front door shut behind her, Hermione took a deep breath, her entire body feeling the weight settling onto her shoulders.

Hermione’s goal had been to survive this day without drawing any negative attention. If she were to gain a few smiles and nods as well, she would call it a complete success. After all, what more could one want from being presented to society?

This morning, she had been grateful that she would not have to suffer under the gaze of the Queen, as Ginny had the previous season, but now, as she stood in the middle of the Foyer, she realized it to be so much worse.

Every eye of the Ton, of Society, had been upon her - or at least, every female eye.

Every Lady, every Baroness, every Viscountess, every Countess, every Marchioness, every  _ Duchess _ … They had all looked at her. The only gaze in society that had not been upon her this day was the Queen’s… and she would surely hear about her soon enough.

What was it, that the Queen’s closest cousin, the Marchioness of Waterford, had said?

_ The Queen would find you to be absolute perfection, my dear. A complete breath of fresh air within society _ .

It had been an unprompted compliment. In fact, Hermione had been the one to be approached, seemingly out of nowhere.

A servant had knocked over a vase, some of the water spilling onto her skirts. While every other Lady nearby had shrieked in terror, as though they were being attacked, Hermione had instead helped the girl to catch the vase itself, telling the young woman that it was an accident, and that the fabric would dry with time.

And then, as though Hermione had not drawn enough attention, she had made a comment about the shrieking reminding her of girls frightened of bees while standing in the midst of a flower field, and was it not such a lovely day, one which would surely soak up any bit of water that was spilled?

That had immediately gathered the attention of every matriarch, intent on discovering the cause of the commotion. Standing there was Hermione, the only girl with her hair mostly free and wild over her shoulders, holding a vase half filled with water, attempting to soothe the fears of a young girl that was not part of their society.

Every breath had held, until Countess Minerva McGonagall of March had turned to Viscountess Sprout, and commented on what generosity and kindness the young Lady had. In turn, Lady Bones had commented to Lady Pomfrey about girls having such character. Dowager Duchess Augusta Longbottom of Montrose had then approached, taken in the situation, and snapped at the other debutantes that it was just a bit of water, which led to the attention of…

The Marchioness of Waterford herself. The host. The Queen’s closest friend and Ally. Everyone knew that she had the Queen’s ear. Everyone knew that, while the Queen was no longer in attendance, she was the head of society. It did not matter what her rank in nobility was - in social standing, she was what mattered this day.

She had looked over the situation, then stepped forward and removed the vase from Hermione’s hands. For once, Hermione had been unable to find an excuse, to explain herself, to apologize for the commotion. Instead, she had dipped into a curtsy the moment her hands were free, and then remained with her head lowered, allowing the Marchioness to pass judgement.

And then, it happened. Fingers on her chin, lifting her up to look into the older woman’s eyes. They were kind, not hard as expected, and she had been asked her name.

She had already been presented and announced, but to be asked her name again…

Lady Andromeda Tonks, born Lady Andromeda Black, to the Ducal Black Family, a family which she had left behind when she went to marry a man beneath her station, a man that had been later awarded his title, returning Andromeda to society, even if a few  _ foolish _ members of the Ton still sniffed her way.

The Blacks were one of the most respected in the country, save perhaps for the Malfoys, and the crown itself. 

Marchioness Andromeda Black Tonks of Waterford mattered.

“I am Miss Hermione Potter, your Grace. I am being presented by my brother’s wife, the Viscountess Potter.”

She had held her breath, waiting for the judgement to come, to decide her future, and Hermione had been afraid that she might be sent away immediately, as though Andromeda might already know who she is, or-

“Such wild hair, I would have expected a wild spirit to join it. Instead, what I see before me is a young Lady filled with grace and poise, with a kind heart, that does not look down on those around them. You, my dear, would always be welcome at tea with me.”

It was not a direct invitation, but it was near enough. Should Hermione ever wish to approach the Lady in the future… she would not be denied.

Hermione had swallowed down her feelings, trying to keep from biting at or licking her lips, watching as the woman turned to look towards her friends.

“The Queen would find you to be absolute perfection, my dear. A complete breath of fresh air within society. I shall be sure to inform her.”

Hermione had not breathed as the Ladies all walked away, leaving her to stand there in shock until Ginny had stepped forward, grabbing at her arm. Ginny had quickly looped their arms together, then began to lead Hermione away.

After all, introductions had been made, and the Ladies had more or less dismissed Hermione, by ending their conversation. It was time to leave, before anyone else approached.

“My God, Hermione,” Ginny had whispered. “My God, did that just happen?”

Ginny had been in a state of panic the whole time, excited and delighted. Even now, as they stood in the Foyer, Hermione could do nothing but blink. Had that truly just happened? Had she actually received approval?

A thousand thoughts swirled in her head, everything from how she could make such a grand match, to how none of this was according to plan. She thought about how she had actually done nothing exceptional but show a bit of kindness towards a genuine accident. She thought about how every Lady had agreed that she was worth commenting on.

She thought about how she had met Andromeda Black Tonks, and while it was a distant relationship, Hermione was still related to her, in a closer way than most within society.

She thought about the whispers that had followed her on the way out.

“How was it?” Harry called out from the upper landing as he jogged down the stairs to them, and Ginny immediately began telling him about what had occurred, about the bee comment and the vase, and about Marchioness Andromeda Tonks giving her approval.

Harry’s eyes met hers, and Hermione said nothing, their eyes remaining locked.

She thought about how the other Mamas had whispered, as they walked away. They had whispered about how they had not known that Lily Potter had had a second child. They whispered about how she had never been presented to society while the Potters were alive. They whispered about how there had been no announcement for her birth, as far as anyone could remember.

They had whispered about her hair… how no Potter had hair like hers.

Hermione looked away from Harry, giving the couple a polite nod, then began walking up towards her room.

She thought about Andromeda Black, and the set of eyes that matched her own.

* * *

Draco Malfoy had not thought he would be returning to London so soon, and particularly not at the start of the social season. His father’s affairs had been wrapped up a few weeks prior, as far as he believed, but the house, where his father had maintained his primary residence, needed to be sorted - what should be sent to Malfoy Manor, what should remain within Wiltshire House, and what should be donated or destroyed?

His own London flat, which he had never actually stayed in, had already been sold, a bachelor pad no longer needed now that he was the Duke. He had, in fact, thought he would not be returning to Wiltshire House - why would he, when he had so many friends to stay with - but if the house itself needed to be sorted, particularly in search of his father’s many ledgers and books and tabs, then it looked as though he could avoid it no longer.

Well, he could avoid it a few days, by staying in Nottingham House, not that Theo was present.

No, instead, Draco would have to suffer the presence of Blaise, whom he had grown tired of during their travels across Europe, and Pansy, who was likely still pleased as could be with the way her marriage had worked out.

Pansy was rumored to have killed old Thaddeus Nott, which was likely a good thing as he probably would have killed her before long, and Theo was delighted to be the new Duke, or so his letters said… but it still made Draco’s stomach roll a bit, to know that things were not as simple as they seemed.

Both Pansy and Theo were lucky that no one questioned either of them about how the old man had dropped dead so quickly after the wedding. Draco was certainly not going to ask.

Well, Pansy now had her lovely London house and freedom from all responsibility, both her parents and lacking in children. Theo could now do whatever, or whomever, he wanted. Blaise was still acting as though he had no responsibility to anyone other than himself, and Draco…

Draco was still uncertain how to feel. He had long hated his father - in fact, it was the only real emotion he could place to the man. There was no sense of love there, no sense of pride, no sense of joy, no sense of sadness even… just pure anger and hatred and rage.

It was because of his father that he did something so common as boxing, needing to physically work out his aggression. It was because of his father that he led such a lonely lifestyle, forsaking all true companionship. It was because of his father that he knew nothing of the estate, of the people, of the taxes and the vaults. It was because of his father that he-

Draco flexed his hand, forcing himself to not think on it. That time was long behind him, thanks to his Aunt Andromeda and his friends. Pansy had been one of the first, a young Lady from the neighboring estate, and then at university, Blaise and Theo had followed. From there, he had more friends with others his age, or near enough, and now, no one knew.

He just had to keep it that way. Avoid conversation. Avoid dalliances. He must simply close up his affairs, and then return to Malfoy Manor, to begin his new life as the Duke of Wiltshire.

Approaching Nottingham House, Draco lifted his chin, his shoulders straightening back, and he resisted the urge to grab the flask that was tucked within his cloak. His father had always worn such a flask, but Draco had had no idea the sheer number of the collection until they had begun going through his father’s personal items.

The doctor said it was his heart that killed him, but in truth, it had to have been the excessive amount of drinking.

Draco was now attempting to refrain as best he could, save for the most horrid of situations, when a strong drink might help to relax his tongue and his mind. He did not need such things with Pansy. Pansy was not the Ton. Pansy would not insult him if he were to fail.

When Draco turned the last corner, he expected to see a few livery out front, but the sheer number of servants, the tables, the food, the flowers… What the bloody hell was Pansy doing? The amount of items, it looked as though a Ball about to occur. He knew the start of the Season was close, but surely it had not already begun?

Blast it, it was too late to simply just go to Wiltshire House. Perhaps another would be available to take him - no, Blaise was also staying at Nottingham, Potter was newly married, Goyle was out of the country, Pucey had only a Bachelor pad that was filth, Longbottom had that Grandmother…

He was right and truly fucked.

As though she could sense him, and his discomfort, Pansy stepped out from the front archway, Blaise a few steps behind. Blaise looked as though he was on his way to the club, with Pansy fussing at him, one hand on her hip. Well then, whatever Blaise had done to receive such disdain, Draco would certainly not be repeating.

“Malfoy! Finally, you’re here. Good! Let me borrow your horse,” Blaise called out.

Draco slid down from his horse, holding the reins in one hand, then looked towards Pansy. She was still angry, but when she looked towards him, her face softened a little.

“Fine then, leave me to this. I shall not introduce you to any young ladies this season, then!” Pansy hissed at Blaise, who was now taking the reins from Draco’s hand.

“They introduce themselves to me, love. It’s because they like a bad boy.”

Pansy rolled her eyes, throwing her hands up in the air, and Draco turned to watch as Blaise disappeared on his horse. Well then. That was… fast.

“Did he just steal my horse?” Draco asked, turning back to look at Pansy, who was looking at him with one eyebrow raised.

“Technically, I think he borrowed it. After all, he did ask first,” she responded.

They stared at one another for a moment, and Draco considered what he should do. The last time he had seen her, he had been an Earl, and she had been a Duchess, freshly married.

Of course, she was still a Duchess, sort of. She was not Theo’s mother, but Theo had loudly announced, after his father’s funeral, that the Duchess would remain at Nottingham House under his care. It was quite the scandal - some had even whispered that Theo might take his father’s wife as his own wife. After all, he had died on his wedding night - had the wedding even been consummated? It was assumed it was the idea of sex that had killed the old man. Lady Parkinson could very well still be a virgin…

Draco would  _ never _ ask Pansy if the marriage was consummated, and he knew that Theo had no intentions of finding a Duchess any time soon.

Still, Draco was now a Duke. One should greet the other, and while they were old friends, they were still out on the street, where anyone could see.

“Your Grace,” Pansy finally said, dipping into a slight curtsy. It was just enough that no one would sniff at it, but it was most certainly not the same curtsy that Pansy had given the Queen the previous season. “As you did not deign to grace us with your presence during your last visit to London, I was unable to express my sincere apologies about the death of your father.”

Draco gave her a tight smile and a nod, looking anywhere but at Pansy. “You are too kind. Thank you, for your condolences.”

“Thank me?” Pansy said with a raise of her brow. “You  _ hated _ the man. We all did. I swear, Aunt Andromeda came and popped an entire bottle of champagne when she heard the news!”

Draco would have liked to have seen such an image, but once his father was dead, Draco had left the city soon after, leaving behind instructions, not wanting to be forced to stay among society while he attempted to clean up his father’s mess. He had slighted a few of his oldest friends in doing so, but he had to hope they would understand.

“Yes, well, we must halt the celebrations. His affairs are in a grand disarray, money hidden in various vaults and projects, and I am still missing most of his ledgers. His lawyers are still not speaking to me. It’s the only reason why I am even here in London.”

Pansy let out a fake gasp, as though she did not already know - Pansy somehow seemed to always know everything. She had a knack for it. Still, he let her play her game, linking her arm through his as she led him towards the house, hemming and hawing about the news she had to share.

“Well, you have arrived at a most fortuitous moment indeed, for I am to host a ball this evening!”

Draco froze in his step, turning slowly to look at Pansy, who had an evil grin on her face. She had worn that face at eight, when she had stolen all of his shoes before he was to leave for school. She looked too proud of herself now, as though she knew he was trapped and caught.

It suddenly made sense why Blaise had run. Draco should have gone with him.

“A ball? To celebrate the Duke’s happy return?” he offered, hoping that the ball would be for Theo rather than himself.

“What? No. Theodore is still off in the country, enjoying himself,” Pansy said with a wave of her free hand.

They both knew what  _ enjoying himself _ meant, and Draco was happy for him. He had a freedom that Draco did not - to find love, freely, and to enjoy it without care or concern. Because of Draco’s preferences, he was trapped to simply be alone.

“Then for what reason could you have to hold a ball?” Draco asked, tapping out the syllables of each word with his fingers on his leg.

Pansy laughed, shrill and high pitched, and he had to force himself to not flinch away, knowing she would mock him for it if he did so. It was a sign - that she had a trick up her sleeve, that she was going to do something that would likely end up dangerous, or annoying.

“It is the start of the season, your Grace! And I am to host the very first celebration. I could not resist. After all, I am young, widowed, and with a great fortune.” She cackled at her last words, head falling back, and Draco could not resist but to roll his eyes.

“Yes, well, it is Theo’s fortune. He is simply allowing you to maintain it.”

Pansy smirked at him, poking one finger into Draco’s chest. “It is Theo’s fortune, which he has no intention of spending. Haven’t you heard? He has taken a lover so great, he does not want to return to the city at all. He left all of his affairs to me. I never have to wed again!”

The sheer joy on Pansy’s face kept Draco from mocking her, but he shook his head, offering her his arm once more as they continued towards the inside of the house, away from prying eyes.

“Yes, and I am quite certain none within the Ton think you had anything to do with his death,” Draco said with a drawl. “So, I congratulate you on your success. I think I shall join Blaise at the club.”

Pansy gave a gasp of mock horror, and Draco realized then what the laugh earlier was for. Ah. Here it was. She intended on him being her guest of honor. He could guarantee it.

“You intend to miss my ball? You, the very guest of honor?”

Draco took in a deep breath, ready to give his excuses, when Pansy carried on.

“I have managed to keep all the details of your return from the rest of the Ton - indeed, no one knows you are here at all! I could have even published your information in the miniatures, but I did not! I have done everything I could to make certain that your stay would be comfortable, without any mamas knowing ahead of time that an eligible Duke would be present and you think to skip it all together?”

The question hung heavy in the air, and Draco knew he was being guilted… but he had to try. He had to. At least once, Pansy might actually give in.

“Pansy, I am here to deal with my late father’s affairs, and nothing more. I will have no time to socialize. Thank you, for your invitation, your- Lady…  _ Pansy _ . I must ask you, however, to accept my regrets.”

Pansy was regarding him with a look that said she might actually consider it, and then her face hardened. Damn her. There would be no hiding at such a ball. He was taller than most men, and with hair like his… It was no secret that Malfoy men had hair that was nearly white. He would be unable to hide at such an affair. Dammit…

“Your regrets are denied.”

The look she gave him said she got all of the cream, and Draco had to accept the last few drops. He stared at her awkwardly for a second, before finally choking out a response.

“I guess… for a few moments-”

“Excellent!” she interrupted, linking her arm through his once more and leading him into the foyer. “It will be most enjoyable to have you around once more.”

They finally reached a space that had a bit of privacy; the door closed behind him, and he released Pansy’s arm, turning to look at her fully. She looked tired, but more relaxed. The tightness in her brow had eased, and she no longer looked so upset over the expectations of society. Widowhood was doing her well.

“It is so good to see you again, Pansy,” he said, and he opened his arms to her.

She stepped in and gave him a tight embrace, her arms going around his middle as he held her close. It was wholly inappropriate, as they were of no relation, and she a young woman that, while a widow, was still of marriageable age. Still, he could not stop himself. It felt good to hug her tight, something he had not done in many years, since he had told her that, while he would love to save her from her parents, he could not marry her. 

"I never hear that often enough," she confessed into his shoulder. 

He knew she had a hard exterior, that she put up walls and boundaries to protect herself, but no more. He would allow no more pain and sorrow in her life. If allowing her to mess and play with his own affairs gave her a few minutes of pleasure, he would allow it, if only to see her smile. 

He just hoped she would stop laughing. 

"Now come. I'm sure we can both use a drink, before all of society arrives. And you must tell me of your travels. All Blaise will talk about is the actresses…" 

* * *

Hermione had been rather pleased with the dress that she had worn to the afternoon tea. It had a high neck, her arms were covered, and the color had been quite lovely with her skin. All in all, she had felt rather pretty in it. Pretty enough to gain the approval of the Ladies of the Ton, at least. She had thought that she would wear something much the same, but now that she looked at the final dresses, Hermione could only blink.

She had tried these on, a number of times. Her measurements had been taken, the style and fabric selected, and she had been properly fitted for it. She could remember all of this, and yet, now that she looked at herself in the mirror, she felt a fraud.

Hermione had grown used to seeing herself with her dresses long, never above the ankle since she had turned 16, even though she had not stepped out into society. Still, she had always worn long sleeves, not even gloves to cover her arms, simply long sleeves. The fabric had always been practical, no layers of lace and sheer and whatever fluttery bit this was. Her breasts in this looked to be far larger than they were.

She did not look to be herself at all. 

The mass of curls and waves that normally was either braided back or twisted into a bun were now flowing freely over her shoulders. She did not like it, did not like the wild look. It looked… loose. It looked like…

It looked like a Black. Wild and crazy hair all over the place? She had seen a portrait of Bellatrix Black at this age. It looked the same. She did not want to look the same as that.

“My hair. We must do something with it. Something up, I think.”

Ginny looked up from where she was looking between two of her new dresses, picking which one to wear this evening. There was a confused look on her face in the mirror, and Hermione watched her sister-in-law approach as she looked at Hermione in the mirror. 

“Truly, you would have it all up? Of course, it could not all remain down, but Lady Waterford commented on how lovely it looked, so freeing.”

Hermione swallowed hard, trying to not think about the woman they were discussing now. She appreciated the compliments, appreciated that she had received such attention, but nothing seemed to be going according to plan, and she had not even attended her first ball.

“Yes, well, that was a garden party. I do not think I should survive the night if it were touching my neck all evening. Perhaps something braided?” she suggested, looking over her shoulder.

One of the maids, who was certainly not pleased with how difficult Hermione’s hair was, gave a nod, gathering her supplies. She would have to figure out something more to do with her hair, something of a more permanent solution. 

“A few small braids in the front,” Ginny said, pulling a few bits back from Hermione’s face. “To keep it out of your eyes. And then, we can pin most of it up, and use the braids to tie it all around. It will look as though your hair is being just contained.”

Hermione did not care what it looked like, so long as it was off her neck and out of her eyes.

“Must the front of my dress be so low?” she asked, looking down at her chest.

Ginny laughed softly, glancing down at her own bust line, and the way that her chest was pressed upwards and out.

“It is the fashion, Hermione! I know that you have insisted on pretending you are nothing more than a Governess the past few years, but you are the daughter of a Viscount. Wearing such clothes, it should not be foreign to you. I remember your mother wearing such things.”

Hermione said nothing, simply swallowed, looking at herself in the mirror. Perhaps that was why she felt as though she were a fraud. Perhaps that was why she did not recognize herself in the mirror. Perhaps that was why it all felt so foreign to her.

“Besides, this is what is in fashion. If you want to attract the best of attention, then you must dress the part.”

Hermione scoffed, rolling her eyes, and stepped down from where she was standing, going instead to the small stool so that the maid might begin working on her hair. It was far easier when Hermione was doing it - she could tug and tangle it to her own heart’s content. The maids were either too gentle or too rough - they did not seem to understand how her hair worked at all.

“I think where you are confused is that you think I want attention. Ginny, the very last thing I need is any sort of attention.”

Ginny had selected her dress and was stripping out of her dressing robe, so that she could begin to put on the layers, one piece at a time. Still, she stopped where she was, half dressed in just her shift, stockings, and corset, and shoved her hands onto her hips, very Molly Weasley style.

“Are you still insisting that you cannot marry for love? Hermione, if you married the right man, he would give into all of your desires, simply out of affection for you.”

Hermione could not help herself, she started laughing, even as she knew it made it more difficult for the maid. Oh, honestly, would she just have to do her hair herself? She knew the curls were a mess, but still.

“Just because you married Harry does not mean that you understand marriage. You were fortunate in finding love, and that Harry did not fight it. He wanted a love like his parents, and who can blame him for that? He found you, and he’s happy, but that’s not real.”

Ginny’s shoulders seemed to soften for a moment, and then she began getting dressed. Hermione almost felt bad, but… she was not wrong. Very few within society were able to marry for love, or at least, for both parties being in love. Men were scoundrels, rakes, and women sought only fortune and status. 

She was like them, in fact, in that she sought a husband based on his wealth. It did not matter that she had noble intentions - all the same, she sought to use her husband’s money for her own desires. Love… love had no place in that.

“Hermione… is there a reason you won’t talk about your parents?”

Hermione had known Ginny for as long as she could remember. She had always been a good friend, had always been her closest companion… but some things, Hermione could not tell Ginny. Some things, she had to keep secret between herself and Harry.

She couldn’t tell Ginny the truth. She couldn’t tell anyone the truth. Once the truth was spoken out loud, it was no longer a secret.

And this secret had to remain such, both for her own safety and sanity, but also for her self-preservation. If it were to get out… one of two things could happen, and neither was good.

“I just…”

They, James and Lily, had only died two years prior, together at least, so that one would not have to suffer without the other. Harry had become a Viscount, then, and Hermione had left behind her schooling, going to the continent to become a Governess. They had both run away from what had happened. They never talked about it. Ever.

“... Maybe I just don’t believe in love.”

The words came out softly, and she swallowed as she looked at herself in the mirror. Her coloring was similar to Harry’s. They had the same sort of dark unruly hair. Their noses looked the same. A few said that they shared smiles.

It was her eyes that gave it away. James had had hazel eyes, and Lily had green. Harry’s eyes were just like Lily’s. There was no denying that he was her son.

Hermione’s eyes were blue. A light blue. So light, they nearly looked grey. They stared back at her in the mirror, taunting her, teasing her. She could not escape them, no matter how much she tried to look away. 

And the curls. She could no longer wear them down. They looked too similar to  _ hers _ .

“Hermione… you know that Harry would do anything for you. If you want to start this school, we can find the funds. We can go to the Queen, or perhaps Lady Tonks would help! You do not know unless you ask.”

Hermione stared at her reflection, then looked away. No, it was not safe for her to be in society and unmarried. She had to wed, to someone that she could control. It was for her own well-being, as well as for Harry’s. It would save her from what was to come, should her secret get out.

“I said that I wanted to find a husband this season, and I will. It is only the first ball, Ginny. Surely, someone in the coming months shall want me for their wife. We shall find someone suitable, and then go from there.”

It was the first step in her multi-step plan to achieve her dreams. Right there, at the top, with a list of requirements beside it, was a clear goal - find a husband.

She could do this. How hard could it be?

“I still think you’re going about this wrong,” Ginny said, finishing getting dressed and sitting down on the chaise to read the society papers. “Look, even Lady Whistledown says you are sure to make an early successful match.”

Hermione did not care what Lady Whistledown had to say. Instead, she stared at herself in the mirror. Stared at her dark curls. Stared at her bright blue eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there you have it! Chapter 1! On the off chance you see any titles that you think are a bit off, or if you think "wow that's a mouthful", it's because I wanted to make certain that everyone knew who certain people were, so we're laying out the whole title for a few chapters. ALSO, if someone is, uh, called a title they're not supposed to be, it's for a reason. 
> 
> Updates will be weekly at noon Tuesdays PST. I'm going to be noting on each chapter, and the graphics will match, that this is going Episode by Episode. Episode 1 will take 4 chapters. Episode 2 will take 5 chapters. So, you can easily follow along where we are at within the TV show, since I am making changes here and there as needed.
> 
> In the off chance you are a bridgerton fan, I have started a podcast type of thing for my bridgerton ted talks. I also do lots of little sneak peaks, reblog lovely fanart, and in general have a nice queue filled with fun things. You can find it all on my [tumblr](https://melanoradrood.tumblr.com/).
> 
> And now, a list of the characters from within this chapter, along with their titles, in case anyone is confused:
> 
> * * *
> 
> Miss Hermione Potter, sister of Viscount Harry Potter  
> Lady Ginny Weasley Potter, Viscountess  
> Lady Andromeda Black Tonks, the Marchioness of Waterford  
> Lady Minerva McGonagall, the Countess of March  
> Lady Pamona Sprout, Viscountess  
> Lady Amelia Bones, Baroness  
> Lady Poppy Pomphrey, Baroness  
> Her Grace Augusta Longbottom, Dowager Duchess of Montrose  
> Lord Harry Potter, Viscount  
> His Grace Draco Malfoy, Duke of Wiltshire  
> Her Grace Pansy Parkinson Nott, Duchess of Nottingham ( husband deceased )  
> His Grace Theodore Nott, Duke of Nottingham  
> Lord Blaise Zabini, Marquees of Salisbury


	3. Chapter 2 : The Nottingham Ball (Ep1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
> 

_ An invitation to the season’s opening ball at Nottingham House is the most coveted of all prizes. Every eligible young lady of the Ton will be on display this evening, with every young Lord that is in want of a bride, searching among them. If one is to have any success this season, they simply must be in attendance.  _

_ Of course, some also may be in attendance simply for the benefit of gossip. After all, the invitation to Nottingham House was extended by Lady Parkinson, which is most assuredly not her proper title. Indeed, this writer notes that she is certainly not a Parkinson, and also not much of a Lady, but! If we must amuse her this evening, then we shall do so, all in hopes of catching a glimpse at her young visitors… _

* * *

Hermione’s arm was wrapped around Harry’s, Ginny only a step behind them. It felt odd, to be the one at her brother’s side, but she understood propriety. If the former Viscount and Viscountess were still alive, Hermione would be on his arm, with her only a step behind, holding onto Harry’s arm, while Ginny was on his other side.

It would have been the five of them, this evening, elegantly gracing the ballroom floor.

Of course, before their deaths, Hermione had no intention of ever joining a season. She had accepted her fate, to become a spinster, and had relished in it. Remaining unmarried would mean she had control of her own fate, given that both James and Harry loved and adored her, and would allow her to follow a path of education, however-

Things changed. Things always seemed to change, whenever Hermione began to get settled, whenever she began to accept what the future held for her. Everything always fell apart, and Hermione was left to scrape up the pieces, and begin anew.

She missed them, having her parents here. She had never thought that she would ever be presented into society, but doing it without them…

Her grip on Harry tightened as she forced herself to no longer look forward, and to instead look around the room.

It was full, of course, with bright candles, laughter, and people. There was a dance floor, filled with couples twirling to the sounds of the musicians, and groups of young ladies stood along the wall, seeking to be approached by any young gentleman.

A few mothers and fathers were dotted around the room, but she noted that many were instead upstairs, likely watching to see how their children fared.

There were a few within that Hermione recognized - the Weasleys, of course, so many redheads about, and Luna Lovegood, whom she had been introduced to at Lady Waterford’s party. There were a few more, dotted about, gentlemen who she believed she may have seen with Harry once or twice, but for the most part, everyone seemed to be a stranger.

And now they were all starting to look at her.

“Why is everyone looking at us?” she asked softly to Harry, who was looking around the room with her in awe.

“I told you, you made quite the impression,” Ginny said, stepping up from behind to whisper into Hermione’s ear. “Let them come to you. You do not want to seem too eager. In time, they will all approach you.”

“I don’t want them to all approach me,” she said, turning her head back to look at her brother’s wife. “I don’t want to talk to even half these people.”

She felt her heart starting to race, when she felt Harry’s hand tighten on hers, grounding her. He would remain calm, of course. She could rely on him for that, at least.

“Let us go for a turn about the room. We can greet those whom I know, and perhaps you can say hello to any Ladies that you met at the party. Look, Gin- your mama is already trying to gain your attention. I shall join you once Hermione has a partner on the dance floor?”

It took Hermione everything she had within her to not reach out and stop Ginny, who quickly pressed a kiss to Hermione’s cheek before moving about the room, going up the stairs to join the others that Hermione thought to already be matched. Of course those viewing would all be married - if one were unmarried, they would want to be seen.

Harry turned her to walk further into the room, when a young man stepped in front of them quickly. He gave them both a small bow, and directed his attention to Harry first.

“Lord Potter. Miss Potter.”

There was a silence, and then Hermione was left to elbow her brother - after all, a young Lady could not introduce themselves. Clearly, the gentleman knew her brother, therefore, her brother must make the introductions. Absolutely absurd, that Harry would remain  _ silent _ .

“Ah, yes, Seamus. My sister, Miss Hermione Potter.”

Hermione quickly dipped herself into a slight curtsy, annoyed with her brother. A first name? That would do nothing for her learning more about him. She had yet to look at the miniatures she had been given, and without a title or a surname or an estate, how was she to judge his worth?

“Miss Potter. My sister was in attendance at a party with you recently, and said you made the most delightful joke. I thought I might ask you to repeat it.”

Hermione could not remember making a joke, save for making a joke of the other young debutantes that had shrieked at the water, and then commenting that they had screamed as though there were a bee, but before she could even respond, Harry was already cutting in, his shoulder turning his body slightly away from the gentleman, Seamus.

“Is that the same sister whose dowry you drank away?”

It was a simple remark, but a cutting one, and within seconds, the gentleman was making his excuses, bowing, and then walking away.

It had all happened so fast, Hermione could barely even blink. They were walking again before she could even ask what had happened, and when she finally did speak, it took everything in her not to snap at her brother.

“Must you always be so rude?” she demanded, her voice low, not wanting to draw attention.

“He’s a drunkard, Hermione, and broke. I thought to save you from wasting your time.”

She sniffed at that, her head turning away from Harry so she might look about the room, eyes traveling over those that were still looking her way.

“You are not wrong, but you did not need to interrupt him making an introduction, lest others be afraid of speaking to me.” Of course, she needed a man that would be easily cowed, but how was she even to meet the man she would need, if they were too frightened of her brother to approach? “And besides, you did not even give me a title, or a last name.”

“No title,” Harry said, looking down at her. “Finnegan. He’s Irish.”

Hermione would never hold anything against anyone who was Irish, however, most were said to be of new money, and without proper manners. Neither of those things bothered Hermione, but this was likely a gentleman that wanted more fortune, a place within the peerage, and if he was drinking away his wealth… Harry was right, then, but she wished to make that decision for herself.

“Please remember, brother, that I might have a strict list of requirements in a future husband, but that is still subject to change, depending on the person. I do not want to completely disregard all options in the first evening.”

She looked up at her brother as she spoke, and he stopped, turning to look down at her as he did so.

“Hermione, the decision is yours… I know that you do not wish to marry for love and happiness, but I will not allow you to set yourself up for a life of loneliness and pain. You deserve more than that, even if you will not give it to yourself.”

She bit her tongue, swallowing down her emotions, and gave a nod. A part of her wanted to hiss that he would allow  _ nothing _ \- she could not be controlled by him, even if he was the head of her household. Still, the tender way he spoke to her, it soothed her. She could at least appreciate that he cared more for her wellbeing than she did herself… even if it was not something she was too worried about.

“Happiness is not a requirement for life,” she said, turning to look towards the dance floor, the refreshment table, the walls filled with young ladies and lords, and the proud mamas and papas up above, watching over it all. “You know what I need, Harry. There are some things more important than happiness.”

When she looked at her brother, he did not look convinced. Well… it was her marriage. He didn’t have to believe in it. He just had to approve of it.

* * *

The first turn about the room had eventually become a second - more and more gentlemen approached, although none asked to dance. She was simply given a name, a few titles, and a nod or two to her brother, and then they were stepping away. It was rather clear that they were all interested in her, in at least speaking to her, but nothing more seemed to come of it.

Still, as each one stepped away, their eyes seemed to linger, still taking her in. She hoped that to be a good sign - perhaps Ginny and Harry were both right - a few turns about the room, allow them to approach her, and perhaps they would come to call in the morning? After all, how much speaking could one do while on the dance floor. It was not dancing that she desired, but conversation.

And research. She would have to research each of these men, first by studying their miniatures, and then by sorting through society papers. She needed to know who they all were before she began to narrow down the list on who to approach.

She was beginning to think that all they would do was walk, when they were approached by two faces that Hermione knew to be familiar. The Weasley twins were both a jovial sort, although a bit immature at times. Still, save for Bill, who was good natured and had the most delightful little girls, the twins were her favorite of Ginny’s brothers.

After a polite nod to her, and a joke or two about her catching everyone’s attention, they had turned to Harry to begin discussing their shoppe. It was quite a wondrous thing, that two gentlemen had stepped away from society to open their own business, in which they actively worked, but their little creations were such wonders.

Located near her favorite ice cream shoppe, Hermione always loved to dip in and see the delight on every child’s face. She had ideas for toys that might be considered educational as well, but had not yet offered them to the twins. She still feared, as most young ladies likely would, that she would be laughed at.

They were a jovial sort, but most did not think a young lady could have ideas, and a mind. She knew what was whispered about the twins - neither had any intention of marrying, far too in love with their work as they were, and they had in turn become rakes.

Of course, to Hermione, they were harmless. She doubted any Weasley brother would bother approaching her. After all, Ron had already tried, and she had been as gentle as possible, but it was pretty clear where she stood when it came to marrying a Weasley.

She really had tried to let him down easily. Still, Hermione was just grateful he understood.

She was just about to slip away, when another young gentleman approached. He looked unsure of himself, almost awkward, verging on ready to run away… and she noticed that his hands were oddly colored, as though the nails were green. How strange, for a young Lord.

“Your Grace,” Harry said, bowing his head to the newcomer. “I have not seen you in some time.”

“It’s still  _ Montrose _ , Harry… or Longbottom, or Neville. No one ever calls me that anymore, save for Gran, and she doesn’t count,” the man, apparently a Duke, was saying.

“Yes, well your Gran apparently met my Hermione yesterday, and scared a whole group of young Ladies yesterday while she was at it. Good luck finding a girl this season that is not terrified of her,  _ your Grace _ .”

Harry was clearly teasing the other man, and Hermione had to elbow her brother once more, annoyed that the men were speaking without, once again, having introduced her. Honestly, she was going to need to have a talk with Harry after this.

“Oof, alright, don’t get violent,” Harry teased.

It annoyed Hermione, but she tried to calm herself - this was not in their drawing room when they were children. She was standing there, a debutante, with a brother and escort that was not introducing her. He could have picked a better time to falter in his manners.

“Neville, this is my sister, who has finally decided to grace the ton with her presence, Miss Hermione Potter. Hermione, this is one of my school friends, Neville Longbottom, the Duke of Montrose.”

Hermione had heard the man awkwardly give off names and titles before, but now that it was pieced together instead of in a stream of consciousness, she was able to realize who he was - and who Harry was talking about.

His Grandmother, the Dowager Duchess, was the one who had drawn everyone’s attention towards Hermione, the vase, and the screaming girls. It was because of her that everyone was now whispering her name. It was because of her that those girls had run off, being shamed by the older woman.

No wonder Harry had just teased him about finding a wife.

A Duke… He was young, fairly agreeable looking, with a Grandmother that would fear most ladies… but, Hermione suspected, the woman would likely enjoy someone speaking plainly to her, and a bit of honesty. If Neville Longbottom, Duke of Montrose, was looking for a wife… Hermione could do well with a Duke that looked to be nearly afraid of his own shadow.

“Your Grace,” she said sweetly, bowing her head slightly and dipping into a curtsy.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see a curious look on Harry’s face. This was the first gentleman to approach, save for the Weasley twins, that Harry had not immediately pushed away. What did he expect, for her to do the pushing away for him.

“Miss Potter,” the Duke of Montrose said in response, bowing his head slightly.

Hermione was just about to compliment the Dowager Duchess, something that she could only imagine later would have been quite clever and delightful, when she felt a hand on her back, startling her from the moment.

“There you two are,” Ginny said, pressing a kiss to Hermione’s cheek as she did so. “Please, forgive me for interrupting your discussion, your Grace, but our lovely hostess was looking to meet our dear Hermione.”

No one else was looking in the Duke’s direction, but Hermione saw it immediately. At the mention of their hostess, he immediately straightened up, looking to be far taller than he had been a moment before, his chest puffed out and his hands tucked behind his back, politely, as though he were well and truly trained.

Whatever frightened boy had been here before, he was long gone. Hermione inwardly deflated - for a man to react as such because of the mention of a woman, particularly an unmarried one, although widowed… it surely meant one thing.

The Duke of Montrose already had his eye on his future Duchess. Hermione would find no foothold here.

“The Duchess wants to speak to Hermione?” Harry asked, turning to look at Ginny with a raised brow.

“I believe she wishes to be called Lady Parkinson,” the Duke said, his shoulders shrinking slightly as he leaned in towards them.

Hermione did not care what her title was - why would their Hostess wish to speak to her?

“Apparently, our Hermione is quite the conversation piece,” Ginny said, a smile on her lips. “And, if the society papers are to be believed, she has two young eligible gentlemen that are currently staying here at Nottingham House. Perhaps she means to help Hermione make a match?”

Hermione tried to smile, almost in agreement… but what would Pansy Parkinson Nott have to say to her? After all, the Lady was rumored to have killed her husband… or have excellent luck. Of course, she was also the inspiration for Hermione’s own desires to be married.

It had worked out for Lady Parkinson. She had married for status and wealth, and now she had both, without the burden of a husband, or even children. Hermione could only dream of making such a match, and having such control of herself.

“Then, we must not keep her waiting,” Hermione said, smiling tightly at Ginny, her throat feeling almost closed up as she swallowed down anything else she wanted to say. 

The Weasley twins took a few steps back, likely not wanting to speak to the Duchess, or Lady, or whatever she wanted to be called, but Hermione noted that Neville Longbottom was just a step behind as they all turned towards the Lady that was now approaching. 

Pansy Parkinson Nott looked regal, far older than her true age of twenty-two. Hermione could only dream to have such control over herself. The woman looked as though she truly was a matriarch, a real Duchess, powerful, self assured, wealthy…

She did not look to be a grieving widow. She did not appear to be a girl that was only just wed the season before. She did not even appear to be a woman that was seeking out her future husband.

No, this was a woman that knew what she wanted. She was not someone that would be controlled by a man. She made decisions, and she commanded attention. She was someone that would murder her husband before he killed her in childbirth.

This was a woman that Hermione wished to befriend.

“There she is,” Lady Parkinson said, glancing Hermione over. She had eyes for no other, simply looking from Hermione’s hair to her simple necklace and down to the long gloves that Hermione wore. “The talk of the  _ Ton _ . I now regret missing Andromeda’s party. I hear it was quite the  _ buzz _ .”

Hermione tried to not flinch at hearing the Marchioness of Waterford’s given name. It should have come as no surprise, given how Lady Parkinson wished to throw off the rules of society and make her own, but still, a sense of propriety should be observed.

“Your Grace,” Harry said, bowing his head slightly. “Please allow me to introduce my sister, Miss Hermione Potter.”

Hermione lowered herself politely, but her eyes never left Lady Parkinson’s. Their eyes, in fact, remained locked. Almost as though the two women were… communicating.

Hermione refused to look away. It was Lady Parkinson that finally turned, looking instead towards her brother.

“Please, I insist, the Duchess was my husband’s first wife, who gave him his son and heir. I simply wish to be called Lady Parkinson. I shall not steal the title of Duchess from the Duke’s future wife.”

Hermione wanted to point out that she was clearly using the Duke’s home, wealth, and status, but instead, kept her mouth shut. Why was it that Lady Parkinson refused to be called the Duchess? It would be her right, perhaps. Then again, she had not birthed the new Duke. Hermione did not know how it all worked. Still, if no one else questioned it, she would keep her thoughts to herself.

“Lady Parkinson,” the Duke said, stepping forward.

He bowed himself, much lower than he should for a woman of equal or lower status, as though she were in fact the Queen. Hermione raised her brow, watching the two, as Lady Parkinson offered him a smile… and nothing more. The Duke rose, a look of desperation clear on his face as the Lady turned herself back towards Hermione and her brother.

“Tell me, my dear, wherever has your brother been hiding you?”

Hermione’s lips parted, trying to find an answer, when Ginny supplied it for her. Bless Ginny, for actually being quick with her thoughts. Perhaps Hermione should have prepared a bit more for the actual conversations, rather than for simply selecting a new husband.

“Hermione has enjoyed completing her education. She speaks three languages, is trained on the pianoforte, and even spent time with my eldest brother’s family, helping with his young children. Given the passing of their parents just as she reached the age to be presented, it was thought best that Hermione wait a few years.”

It was a beautiful answer - no one would judge her for waiting, for going through a time of mourning. Completing her education? Spending time with children? Both were true, although, the fact was, Hermione had also been the educator. They carefully glided around the truth of her age… although, it benefited Hermione greatly that everyone knew that Lily Potter gave birth almost exactly nine months after her marriage to the Viscount.

Of course, why would there be a question of her being too old, when, if she were Harry’s sister, she would have to be younger than his twenty-three. 

“Three languages? Well, I hope with your education and good senses, that you set your sights much higher than the younger sons of a Baron. No offense, Lady Potter.”

It took Hermione a moment to realize what Lady Parkinson was speaking of, remembering that the twins had been speaking to Harry just a moment before, and she quickly had a response, not even thinking before she spoke.

“The Weasleys are good family friends, and Ginny’s brothers are like brothers to me. I would not appreciate an insult on them, simply due to the status of their birth. Each of them are kind gentlemen, quick of wit, and generous. I could only hope to make a match with someone so honorable.”

Of course… she would not marry a Weasley no matter what… but, Hermione was not going to voice that out loud.

Lady Parkinson was not wrong. Her education, her desires… she wanted someone far higher than the son of a Baron. Particularly one that was not set to inherit much of anything.

The other woman looked her over, brow raised, then gave a slight nod. It looked to be a bit of approval, although for what, Hermione did not know. She looked towards her brother, ready to move on in conversation, but instead noticed the Duke.

He was still looking at Lady Parkinson as though she was the sun, moon, and stars. Oh goodness, could he be any more obvious?

“Do you dance, Lady Parkinson?” Hermione asked suddenly, looking back to the other woman. 

“Why, are you asking me?” Lady Parkinson teased, an unladylike smirk sliding over her lips.

Hermione could not help herself but to laugh slightly, something very much undignified, and she shook her head, her eyes rolling slightly. “I think we would shock the Ton and the society papers if we did such a thing, but if you were interested, I do believe the Duke would be interested in asking you.”

This was… a kindness. The greatest of kindness she could give.

And besides, if the two made a match, perhaps Lady Parkinson  _ would _ introduce her to the young gentlemen that were currently residing within her home.

“Duke?” Lady Parkinson asked, the question very evident in her voice. She was looking around the group, and then beyond, her eyes not even touching on the Duke of Montrose.

Oh. Oh dear. It was worse than Hermione had thought. The poor Duke looked to be besotted with a woman that did not even know who he was. Hermione could only stomach so much pity for a man, but she had no right to introduce the two.

She was saved, however, by Lady Parkinson suddenly looking startled. Hermione looked over her shoulder and saw a young man entering the ballroom, and then backing out again, looking as though he were about to dash. Whatever that was about, it clearly had the woman in a bit of a rush.

“Excuse me, there is something I must see to,” the Lady said, brushing past them both. It was verging on rude, and yet, were not the duties of a hostess many? Hermione could forgive Lady Parkinson her exit… it was as sudden as her entrance, after all.

She thought she heard the word  _ blaze _ as the woman passed, but she did not see any candles having caught on anything to cause such a thing. How odd. 

Still.

“Hermione, there are a few friends of mine you must come and meet,” Ginny said, locking her arm into Hermione’s.

Ginny gave a curtsy to the Duke, and a nod to Harry, then led Hermione away as soon as Hermione had done the same.

The poor Duke… to long for someone that did not even know his name or his title.

Hermione could only hope to avoid such a thing. This was why she did not believe in love. It made no sense, had no reasoning. It was to be avoided at all cost, lest Hermione make a mess of it herself. A good thing, then, that she had already decided not to marry.

“Who are these friends?” Hermione asked, trying to think no more on a man that she could not, would not marry. His problems would have to be his own, even if she did pity him.

“Other girls from within the Ton. Some live within the city, but most I met last season.”

Ginny and Harry had been married only a few short months into the previous season, but Ginny had participated in many of the balls, social pleasantries, and the presentation of the debutantes. Of course, she would know many of the girls here. They had been debutantes in years past.

The group of girls they approached were two that looked so identical they must be twins, another that looked pleasant with a large smile, and a final one that was looking towards… well, Hermione glanced in the direction the girl was looking, and saw nothing. Well then.

“Hermione, this is Lady Padma Patil, Lady Parvati Patil, Miss Lavender Brown, and Miss Luna Lovegood. Ladies, this is my sister-in-law, Miss Hermione Potter.”

The group of them all dipped into a slight curtsy, as was polite, and then, they were all upon her at once, filled with questions.

“I do not think I have ever seen you before,” said Miss Brown, giving her a glance over.

“Yes, how strange,” said Lady Parvati. “Were you even at the Viscount’s wedding celebration last season?”

“I know I did not see you at the end of the season’s ball. You would have been invited, if you were coming out this season,” Lady Padma added.

Hermione took in a slow breath, knowing that anything she said would be quickly spread around, and Ginny had already saved her once. It was her turn to answer for herself.

“I was not ready to be introduced to society-”

She was cut off before she continued, by Miss Brown. “And why not? What would keep you from being presented?”

“Her parents only just died two years ago,” Ginny snapped at Lavender Brown. “Or, perhaps you forgot. Harry had already approached my father with intentions of marrying me last season, and so, Harry thought to allow her her own season, so that our marriage would not overstep it, and allow her an extra year of mourning. Surely you would not begrudge a young lady time to mourn her parents.”

There was some truth to it, to what Ginny had just said, but Hermione felt awkward, a silence settling over the group of them. She licked her lips, glancing down towards the ground, but the moment of silence seemed to work, as Miss Brown gave a short apology, then turned to Lady Parvati, speaking about Lady Whistledown.

It gave Hermione a moment to look at the group, to see if she knew who they were. She recognized them all from the Garden party a few days prior, save for Miss Lovegood, although she had not spoken to any of them. They were also not among the group that Hermione had somehow insulted with her comment about the bee. A good thing, if these were Ginny’s friends. Hermione would not want to have made enemies of those that would have otherwise been allies.

“I just think it’s odd, that Lady Whistledown is so willing to name names. Eventually, we shall be able to take a list, and scratch out every name that has been mentioned. In the end, surely, we will have our answer,” Lady Parvati was saying, a coy smile sliding over her lips.

“Unless they are not a member of society itself,” Lady Padma was saying, looking frustrated with her sister, as though they had argued over this before. “A servant, perhaps. A lady’s maid. One who is always present, but never seen.”

“Must we still speak of this Lady Whistledown?” Miss Brown asked, her eyes rolling as she looked back towards the dance floor. “We can speak of her and her society papers in the morning, once they arrive, or perhaps at the promenade - what we  _ should _ be doing is looking for dance partners.”

It appeared as though Miss Brown was looking for someone in particular, her eyes going along each couple, and then she turned, looking towards the back wall, the refreshments… it was not an eligible man in general that she sought out. No, Miss Brown already knew which one she desired.

“Lady Whistledown will surely know if we are seeking out who she is. Perhaps she is one of us, just another girl that is looking for her lost love, using any strength and resource she has at her fingertips. Or, perhaps she is a bit misguided. You know, the closest way to a man’s heart is by telling him the truth. It would certainly speed things along. And, if she seeks to spread gossip, it spreads itself, one way or another.”

Miss Lovegood, who had not spoken at all in the previous conversation, even to acknowledge Hermione, had finally spoken. Her eyes were still lost on the wall, and Hermione glanced over again, trying to see what it was that had caught her attention.

“Luna is a bit different, but she’s a lovely person,” Ginny whispered in her ear.

Touched in the head was what Hermione would call it.

“Or perhaps she is just a spinster,” Miss Brown snapped towards Miss Lovegood. “As I said, we should dance.”

Lady Parvati nodded and turned towards the dance floor as well, leaving Lady Padma to shrug her shoulders in Ginny and Hermione’s direction. It felt a bit of a snub, but perhaps Miss Brown was correct… if they were looking for husbands, then the dance floor was where they should start.

“Lovely friends,” Hermione whispered to Ginny.

Ginny rolled her eyes, then led Hermione towards Lady Weasley, who had just come down the stairs. Oh lovely… another person that would likely have something to say about Hermione’s sudden appearance in the Ton…

* * *

Draco had waited as long as possible before finally entering the ball. It was nearly two hours past the start, a few of the older guests had already departed, and by now, most dance cards would be full. He had lingered long enough at a side door, knowing that he could slip in, greet Pansy, and then slip out again, without being noticed, if he was lucky.

He just had to simply perform the move smoothly, without drawing any attention.

The problem was his hair; there was no hiding it. His hair had always been a reminder of his father, something he utterly loathed, but he knew of no way to darken it. Redden it, perhaps, and there were some techniques to lighten, but his hair was already close to white, and he would rather look like his father than a Weasley.

He could only hope that by wearing a tall collar and having his hair tied back out of his face, he might be able to remain somewhat in the shadows, only recognized by a few. Pansy had stated that his information had not been included in the handouts, no mamas nor young ladies had been introduced to him prior, and really, would any of his friends out him like this? The only giveaway was how similar he looked to his father, but it was not as though his father would bother to attend society events such as this.

If he was very very lucky, no one would realize he was here at all.

The dance floor was full, with many others standing around chatting, meaning that most had their back towards him as he entered the room. There were a few gentlemen here that he recognized from boarding school - he could see Longbottom still shuffling about, and too much red hair to even count the numbers, and by God, was that Adrian Pucey? Oh, and no grand surprise, there was Cedric Diggory, with a cluster of girls around him. A pretty boy, apparently, with no money… he was likely seeking out a large dowry.

So many here this evening, but most looked to be paired off or in clusters. It worked in his favor. If he had any luck at all, no one would even see him to begin with.

Stepping further into the room, he began to look around, hoping to spot the dark green of Pansy’s dress. She would surely be in the middle of the largest group, handling multiple conversations, holding court or some such, and he simply had to greet her, and then disappear.

Except - she was standing with a group of girls. Older girls, by the look of it. Likely near spinsters, desperate enough to do anything to find a match. He would not be able to approach, then.

Stepping back towards the wall, Draco looked towards the refreshments table. He was missing having a flask in his hand, but he could walk over, have a drink, and then disappear - Pansy could not fault him for that. He had promised to make an appearance - he had said nothing about dancing, talking to anyone, or even introducing himself.

“Your Grace,” a voice came from beside him, and Draco could do nothing but turn to look at the speaker. It was an older woman, likely someone his father’s age. A mother, then, likely trying to foist her daughter onto him. 

Curse his hair. It was always the hair that gave him away.

“Please allow me to present my daughter, Miss Lavender Brown.”

The girl looked confused as to who he was, which was fortunate enough, except-

At the sound of his title, other girls had turned in his direction, followed by another two mamas, and then-

He was surrounded. Surrounded by girls and their mothers and a thousand chattering voices. He pasted on a fake tight smile and began to nod at each lady that was introduced in turn.

His eyes flicked up across the room, and he saw Pansy standing there, one hand on her hip, the other slowly working her fan in front of her face. There was a smirk across her lips, clearly showing she was pleased with herself.

He was going to kill Blaise first, for abandoning him this evening. Then, he was going to kill Theo, for allowing Pansy to keep so much power unchecked. And then, he was going to end Pansy, for setting him up like this.

Escape. He needed to escape. This was enough for one evening.

“Yes, how lovely to meet you all,” he said, his voice sounding far louder than he had intended, but his words at least came out clear, and for that he was grateful. 

The last thing he needed was to lose any and all self control he had left.

* * *

“Hermione?”

She had only just stepped away from Ginny and Harry, claiming that she needed a bit of lemonade, and hoping that, without the pair of them hovering around her, someone might approach her. After all, it had been two hours, and while many were looking in her direction, none had asked her to dance, or even asked for an introduction. Surely, someone would be bold enough…

The young ladies were glancing her direction, each giving her a smile, but Hermione could see it in their eyes. They were behaving as though they were friends, but Hermione knew they saw her as an enemy.

And every young Lord… well, they smiled as well, but their smiles were more knowing, as though they were imagining her as their wife. Hermione did not know what quite to make of it, all of this attention, but what she did know was that with Harry and Ginny, none would approach.

A quick trip to the refreshments table and back. Surely, someone would approach.

Except… she had not expected  _ him _ .

Turning towards the voice, Hermione stood, shocked. She had not been aware that Ron was in the city. If she had known, she would have reached out to him, personally. Ginny had never said a word. Surely, her sister-in-law would have warned her of his presence. Surely… surely this was not some scheme.

“Ron-” Just his first name passed her lips, and she shook her head, taking in a deep breath, remembering where she was, remembering who she was supposed to be. It would be unacceptable for her to address him by his first name. It would be something far too intimate. “Mr. Weasley.”

The look Ron gave her was something that screamed of betrayal, hearing her call him by his formal name. Still, he gave a slight nod, looking her over.

She felt almost naked under his gaze, and she did not like it. The last time she had seen him, her dress collar went to her neck, her dress had been serviceable and worn, and she had had her hair in a bun, an apron around her waist, and she was working with his brother’s family, helping Fleur Weasley with her children.

“Miss Potter,” he said, seeming to choke on the words. “When I read the society papers, I could not imagine that it was you with Ginny. Still, I knew immediately that I had to return, on the off chance that you…”

This was what she had feared. This conversation. She had known she would have to have it, but at a ball, on the first night of her being out in society? She looked for Harry, for Ginny, but she could see neither. No one else would know to come and save her. No one else would have any idea that she was panicking.

“And so, what? You chose to return to the city, to wish me well on my first night in society? That is so kind of you, Mr Weasley, but there was no need for you to do such a thing.”

Where was Ginny? If Ginny knew about this… why hadn’t she warned her?

She had tried to be so careful in letting Ron down, but if he had rushed in from the countryside simply on the off chance that the society papers were speaking of her, then- 

She needed rescuing, before Ron made a scene.

Because Ron always made a scene.

“Hermione, you said you would not marry,” Ron said, far too loudly.

“You mean, Miss Potter,” she corrected, lifting her chin. “And, I said I was not ready to marry at the time.”

“We both know what you said,  _ Miss Potter _ . If your position on marriage has changed, then neither has my position in regards to your hand.”

Where was Ginny? Where was Harry? Where was literally anyone? The twins, they were - they were on the dance floor. Mrs Weasley? Up on the balcony. Who else could she go to, who else - she had not seen any of his other brothers recently, so perhaps - perhaps their hostess! Yes, perhaps she could use the excuse of Pansy, who was still nowhere to be seen.

Someone had to save her from this conversation.

“That is a discussion you should have with my brother,” she choked out. 

Anything to get Ron away from her.

“It is something I think I should discuss with you,” he said, taking a step closer.

There. Oh thank heavens. She saw Ginny, stepping down from the last of the steps, with Harry on her arm, both of them heading straight towards her. She did not look away from them, did not even glance back to Ron.

“Please excuse me, my brother is summoning me,” she said quickly, fumbling to put the glass back on the table.

A couple stepped in front of Harry and Ginny, but it did not matter - Hermione would go to them all the same.

“Hermione!” Ron called out, but she did not turn back.

“Miss Potter,” he was trying again. “Wait-”

She looked back over her shoulder towards him, seeing that Ron was attempting to follow.

“Miss Potter-”

Hermione collided with something, or someone, so hard, that she nearly fell over. The person she had bumped into immediately grabbed onto her forearms as Hermione did much the same, grasping at the gentleman’s coat.

He looked just as startled as she felt, and Hermione blinked, immediately stumbling to find an appropriate apology.

“Pardon me,” she said quickly.

“Miss Potter!” she heard from behind her once more.

“You are forgiven,” came the rough and deep response.

Hermione looked back over her shoulder to see that Ron was being stopped by one of the twins — and where had George been a few moments earlier, when she needed him? Still, Ron looked to be trying to side step his brother.

She needed a distraction. A reason to ignore Ron.

“Tell me your name,” she said quickly to the gentleman, who was now once more looking around the room for something, or someone.

He looked down at her, eyebrow raised, and she finally got a good look at him. Young. Privileged and titled, given how nice his coat was. A cad, given how his neckerchief was not even tied properly. He was handsome, perhaps, but not to Hermione’s tastes.

He looked down at her with a raised brow, but did not respond, forcing Hermione to repeat herself.

“Your name, sir. Surely you have a name.”

He snorted at her, a rather undignified sound, and he rolled his eyes, his mouth slanting as he did so. “Of course I have a name. Is that your best attempt at finding out mine?”

Hermione blinked, her head jerking back, and she forgot all about Ron, who was still somewhere behind her. Really? How rude could a person be.

“To be perfectly honest, I do not really care,” she said, knowing her words were a bit cutting. “But, you made for an appropriate excuse to ignore the gentleman behind me.”

The man she was speaking to looked past her, and she looked back with him. Ron was standing just a few steps away, looking at the two of them, and then turning away, clearly sulking. She wondered what it was that would keep Ron from approaching her. She had thought she would have to dismiss him in favor of speaking to this new gentleman. 

The fact that Ron was not even approaching, to try and interrupt the conversation...

“A Weasley? I cannot blame you. I would not waste time speaking to such creatures either,” he said, another snort escaping him.

Hermione turned back to look at the gentleman, eyebrows raised. Truly? She knew that the Weasleys had many children and were not of great wealth, but they had been Lords longer than most. Who would hate on the Weasley family?

“That was inappropriate,” she said, her voice shocked. “Just because I did not want to speak to Mr Weasley, does not mean that the family as a whole-”

“Please, there are far too many of them,” the gentleman said. 

“Mmm,” Hermione hummed. “Well, if that is your opinion, I shall be certain to avoid you in the future. My brother happens to be married to one.”

The gentleman looked at her with a confused face, then looked her up and down. She did not like it any more than she had when Ron had done so.

She needed away from this place, away from these so called gentlemen. This evening had been a waste of her time. She was impressed with no one from society, save perhaps for Pansy Parkinson - and there was certainly no way that Hermione would be allowed to marry  _ her _ .

“Avoid me? You would be the first, given my name,” the gentleman said, looking down at her. She felt as though she was being treated like a child, with his condescending gaze, and Hermione could not help but to loathe her height in that moment.

“Well, as you have not given it to me, how am I to know who you are?” she asked, trying to resist the urge to cross her arms under her breasts… and failing.

His eyes went to the top of her breasts, and she wanted to drop her arms, but did not.

She would not acknowledge how rude he was being by doing any such thing as changing her current position.

“If you must insist… and, I find it prudent to point out, that demanding an introduction is highly irregular…”

At that, Hermione struggled to not throw her hands in the air, far too frustrated with this conversation. Whoever he was, she had no interest in him, and would be certain to avoid him at all costs. Should Ginny ask who it was that had vexed her so highly, particularly after Hermione had dealt with her brother, she would simply point out the rude gentleman with nearly white hair.

“That is not- You, sir, are exceptionally difficult.” 

He was looking down at her with clear amusement in his eyes, but all Hermione could feel was fire and rage. How dare he be  _ amused _ by her! Did he think this was a game? That society was a game? To insinuate, first, that she did not know who he was, after insulting a whole family of lovely people, and then calling  _ her _ rude after all his comments.

“And you… you will make a lovely wife someday,” drawled the gentleman, his eyes going back down to her breasts. “For someone else.”

She was going to burn this particular set of stays as soon as she returned home.

“Malfoy!” called out a voice, and Hermione did not know who it was that was this Malfoy, but she refused to look away from the gentleman that was now ogling her.

“Draco Malfoy!” repeated the voice, and with horror, Hermione realized it was her brother’s voice… and he was walking straight towards her.

“Potter!” the gentleman said, suddenly taking a step back, forcing Hermione to realize just how close they were to one another. Had neither of them moved away, after they had bumped into one another? No wonder his eyes had been on her chest, for where else was he to look, when she was nearly on top of him?

Hermione took a step back herself, turning to look over her shoulder. Ron was standing at the doorway to the Ballroom, the loathing clear in his eyes. She did not know what she had done to receive such a look, but she was grateful that whatever discussion they had been about to have, it was now over and done.

“My God, Potter, it is good to see you,” the gentleman, Draco Malfoy, said, clapping her brother on the arm with one hand, while the other reached out to shake. They did so, verging on a near hug, and Hermione could not help but to raise her brow.

“Heard about your father,” Potter said, shaking his head. “Bit of luck there you were finally rid of him.”

Hermione tried her best to not gasp in horror at Harry’s words. Rid of his… Why would Harry be congratulating someone on losing their father? For a brief moment, Hermione wondered if Harry’s friends had done the same, when James had passed. Were the young men of the Ton truly that ready to become Lords? Could Harry be that callous?

“Yes, well, I would have rather stayed abroad another year or two,” the gentleman, if one could even call him that, said. “I now seem to have business everywhere.”

“Yes, well, a Duke’s duties must never end,” Harry said with a grin.

Hermione felt her face go white at Harry’s words. A Duke. The gentleman, whom she had insulted repeatedly, and even called  _ sir _ , was in fact a Duke. First, the garden party, where she had drawn the attention of everyone, and now, insulting a Duke. Add in the return of Ron Weasley to London, and it was all falling apart.

This was why she had not wanted to join society. This was why she had not wanted to be married. This was why she should have stayed a governess. The stress of it all was sure to kill her, at this rate. She could practically feel her hair coming free of its confines, ready to spring to life, so that she might tug at it for hours, destroying it further.

“They do not,” the gentleman finally said, giving a few nods.

His gaze then went back to her, and Hermione felt that the look was one of dismissal - after all, the Duke, Duke Draco Malfoy of… well, that had not been supplied yet, but he was speaking to his friend, the Viscount Harry Potter. And she was clearly being dismissed by him.

It was Hermione’s turn to lift her chin, then slowly look at Harry.

Harry, who seemed to finally, for once, remember his manners  _ without _ Hermione having to elbow him.

“Malfoy-  _ Wiltshire _ . This is my sister.”

The stupid look that crossed the Duke’s face would forever be plastered in the back of Hermione’s mind, so that she might giggle at it on occasion. He was dumbfounded, clearly, and perhaps even running back through their previous conversation. “Sister?”

Hermione could not look away from him, even as Harry turned his introduction to her. “Hermione, the Duke of Wiltshire and I know each other from our days at Hogwarts. We became friends, near the end, although I will say, it was a bit of a struggle the first few years.”

Hermione remembered those letters. Letters that detailed boys that were rude. That thought themselves better than everyone else. She tried to run through the list of names, until she remembered that one - Draco. He had said a few rude things, often at the spur of a moment, things that had cut Harry to his core.

While other boys might have used their fists, Draco had been top of the class, and when approached about it, had always had nothing but callous things to say on the matter. It had hurt her sweet Harry’s heart, who, while not the best at schooling, had always done well in practical things.

He had wanted friends, and had left with the best of them being Ron Weasley, who Hermione could barely stand, and a few others…  _ Malfoy _ . Yes. She remembered the letters now.

A misunderstanding, Harry had called it. That, when it mattered most, Draco Malfoy had been his friend. A good friend. A friend that he worried for.

James had invited Draco, in fact, to join Harry at their house in London, once they finished at university… and then James and Lily were dead, Hermione was refusing to come home, and Harry was rushing into marrying Ginny Weasley.

She might have met Draco Malfoy, Duke of Wiltshire, two years prior, had the world not fallen apart.

“Yes, I remember his name from your letters,” Hermione said, finally turning to look at Harry, a soft smile on her lips as she touched his arm. “He was one of those that was to join you in the city, was he not?”

Other names suddenly came back to her… Neville Longbottom… Seamus Finnegan… Theodore Nott… Blaise Zabini… All boys that had been intending to summer at Potter House. Except…

Harry turned to look at her, giving a nod, and Hermione pulled a tight smile as well. They did not speak on it, not really. They didn’t talk about how Harry lost himself to rage and loneliness. How Hermione had stopped answering letters. How… How they had dealt with the many secrets they held close to their hearts.

It was all being held together now by a tight thread. 

“Yes, well, how lovely, then, that you have met once more,” Hermione said brightly, turning back to look at the Duke as she said such things. “So many of your other friends have been delightful to meet. I’m certain the Duke is also… among them.”

Harry cleared his throat slightly, and she raised a brow as she looked towards him.

“Wiltshire enjoyed weekend trips into the city,” Harry said politely.

It took Hermione two seconds, and then she was blinking, looking up at the Duke with new eyes. Ah. One of those that… left Harry behind. Harry had been horrified, when he had written home about what happened over the weekend at University, once they had reached a certain age.

Drinking… debauchery… whoring. Harry had been horrified by it. Hermione could still remember reading the letter to James and Lily, just before she had returned to her own schooling, and watching James lose him to laughter. 

_ “My son, horrified at the idea of getting lost at the club,”  _ James had said, slapping his leg. Lily had snorted as well, trying to hide her laugh behind her fan.

_ “What would Remus say? _ ” she had asked, looking up at him. 

_ “Remus would be proud of the boy for not partaking in the whoring bit, at least.” _

Hermione had never heard her parents use such words before. 

_ “Yes, well if Sirius were still alive, he would have-” _

Her father had stopped in his words suddenly, staring directly at Hermione. She knew what was about to pass his lips. She knew what route he was about to take. Another one of those things that the Potters did not discuss. 

Because, for all of the love and affection between them, it seemed as though all Potters struggled to discuss the secrets that, as a family, they must keep.

The memory disappeared, and Hermione smiled politely at the Duke. It appeared as though her original assessment was correct. A cad. A rake. A layabout. A man that only participated in general debauchery. A lord that had no true responsibility, save for his own pleasure.

“Ah. Yes. The weekend trips.”

Once Harry had joined in on the weekend trips, the letters had changed. They were no longer as candid as they had once been. Instead, Harry was careful in his words, citing that they were both getting older, and that what had once been acceptable for him to discuss, was now off limits, as she was becoming a young Lady, and he a young Lord.

That had all changed, after the deaths. Harry had immediately settled, wanting what James and Lily had. She could not blame him.

The Duke was looking down at her with a raised brow, as though he was aware that she knew what occurred on the weekend trips. She knew enough, of course. Not all of the explicit details, but, Hermione knew what a rake was. After all, her father had been one.

“Yes… well, once I began my grand tour, those weekends were child’s play in comparison,” the Duke said, his eyes going to Harry, and then returning to her, as though waiting for her response, her judgement.

It was highly inappropriate for him to even hint at such things in the presence of a Lady, but Hermione simply raised her brow, not even responding.

“Careful with your words, there,” Harry said, his voice sounding jovial with the smile on his lips. “Lest I shall have to challenge you to a duel for hinting at such things in front of my sister.”

Hermione looked away from the Duke as she rolled her eyes, going to elbow her brother once more.

“Yes, except you are a horrible shot,” the Duke retorted, grinning, relaxed.

“One can be a horrible shot when they hold both the pistols,” Harry teased, and Hermione knew there was a story there, but she would not ask about it.

To ask would mean to show interest, and she intended on doing no such thing.

“Shall I see you at the club?” the Duke asked, looking Harry over, as though now being the one to do the judging.

“In the morning,” Harry said, turning towards Hermione and offering his arm. “I must take my sister and wife home for the evening… and I do not leave afterwards.”

Hermione understood by Harry’s tone what he was saying - that devious things occurred at night at the Gentleman’s Club, and he did not partake. He stayed home, with Ginny, a dutiful husband. A loving husband.

The Duke gave a nod, understanding. “Very well then. In the morning. Good evening, Potter.”

His gaze then drifted back to her, and Hermione gave him a smile and a slight dip of her head. She would give him nothing more. Not even an acknowledgement with her voice. She had given the Duke of Wiltshire more than enough of her time.

“Miss Potter.”

The way he said her name… it sounded almost like he did not believe it. As though he knew the lie. He could not, of course… but something about the way that the Duke said her name, it did not feel right. Something about it was off. Something about it should change.

Hermione did not look over her shoulder as Ginny approached, but she could feel his eyes on her. Looking back would mean acknowledging him. It would mean that… something. Something, and she wasn’t sure what.

“Are you ready to go home?” Harry asked his wife.

“But she didn’t even dance!” Ginny said, clearly shocked.

“I have had enough of gentlemen for one day,” Hermione said quickly. “Including, your brother.”

“Fred? Or George?” Ginny asked, clearly confused as she took Harry’s free arm. 

Hermione licked her lips, thinking about the way that he had looked at her as she stood with the Duke of Wiltshire, clear rage and hatred on his face. Whatever he had seen, it had caused such anger in him, Hermione had never seen before. She didn’t understand it, and it scared her.

“Ronald,” she finally supplied. “Ronald has returned to the city, and he wishes to speak with me.”

She didn’t miss the look that passed between Harry and Ginny. She was just too tired to ask about it.

* * *

Draco watched as Potter walked away with his sister. Hermione, was it? He had only caught Potter using it once, and now that he had a clear view of her, he thought it rightfully appropriate. Hermione… the daughter of the most beautiful woman in the world. The woman that had started the Trojan Wars. 

It was an apt name for the woman he had just met.

He overheard a bit of their conversation, that she had not even danced with anyone, and was that not a pity? Draco himself loathed to dance, as it meant that all eyes would be upon him, and it would mean something, if he spun a young lady around the dance floor. Still, he thought it might be lovely to watch her do so.

The way she had looked at him, had taunted him… He had thought, upon first meeting, that she had been sent ahead by her mama, to distract him, to gain an introduction. He had thought her a child, to be attempting such a thing.

But, there was no mama. He knew that Potter had lost his parents two, nearly three years prior, just as they were all finishing at university. It had affected Potter deeply, who seemed to truly love and respect his parents.

Which meant that Miss Potter was here with only her brother and her brother’s new wife as chaperones.

They certainly would not have sent her his way. Particularly since Potter was one of the few that knew the truth about his father, his upbringing, and his aspirations in life. No man that knew those truths would foist their sister upon him.

She was quite lovely, though, with the way she lifted her chin, crossed her arms, and even raised her brow. He had been unable to look away on more than one occasion, treating it as a staring contest, when in truth, he had been admiring her.

That was before, of course.

He was not so devious that he would attempt to steal the chastity of a young Lady in the Ton. That would result in him ending up like Sirius Black, or so the rumors said. Oh, of course, the official story was that he had died in a hunting accident, but it was the whisper of everyone at University, given that one of their Professors had once been the man’s friend…

He had chased after a young Lady in her first season, and when he got her with child… well, she had ended up dead in childbirth, and he had ended up dead with a shot through the chest. Whether or not there was truth to it did not matter.

It was simply a reminder for every young gentleman that, if you flirted around a Lady’s skirts, you must be prepared for the consequences.

That was why he kept to prostitutes. Prostitutes did not have elder brothers that demanded compensation for the insult. Prostitutes did not want to marry and have children. All they wanted was a bit of coin to pay for their bed each night, and a few rounds of fun.

Still, he could look, and look he did, watching as she left the ballroom, without even looking back over her shoulder. He had thought he would gain at least that. Instead, he could only watch the back of her head, a riotous mass of curls trying to escape the updo with each step. He imagined what it looked like down. He imagined what it might feel like, with his fingers sinking into it.

“Who are you looking at?” came a voice from beside him, and Draco nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw Pansy standing there, an appraising look on her face.

“N-n-” He cleared his throat, struggling for a moment. He swallowed the words down, straightening his shoulders as he did so, and reminded himself exactly who he was. He was a Duke. The Duke of Wiltshire. He was a Malfoy. He was the most senior member of society within this room… save, perhaps, for Longbottom, who barely counted for anything.

“No one,” he finally said. “I think I am going out. Have a good evening, Lady Parkinson.”

He turned and left the room, in the opposite direction to which the Potters had walked. It was a good thing he did not look back, for if he had, he would have seen Pansy’s face as she connected the dots, looking from one direction to the other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot, last time, to give y'all a huge heads up - It's CANTTOUCHTHIS BETA READING THIS SO IF THERE'S ANY ERRORS IT'S ALL HER FAULT. Just kidding. It's like 30% her fault.
> 
> I have completed the first Seven Chapters, which gets us halfway through Episode 2! I am hoping to get so far ahead that I can eventually start posting twice a week, but I make no promises! And besides, the further we go, the thicker and meatier the chapters will... get. 
> 
> For those of you not on [Tumblr](https://melanoradrood.tumblr.com/) that want to follow along with me... If you are wanting to read this on another platform, I am uploading it onto [Wattpad](https://www.wattpad.com/user/MelanoraDrood)! And [Twitter](https://twitter.com/melanoradrood)... not that I know what I'm doing. I also went and got brave this week and made an [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/melanoradrood/), where I will be posting fun quotes and giving my fic recs. There's also... a [TikTok](https://www.tiktok.com/@melanoradrood)... which I cannot believe I'm even saying. Yeah. It's the same username on everything! You can find me.
> 
> The next update will be Tuesday, March 2nd, and it will be titled: Old Friends and New.
> 
> And now, a list of new characters we met this chapter:
> 
> * * *
> 
> Mr Seamus Finnegan  
> Mr Frederick Weasley  
> Mr George Weasley  
> His Grace Neville Longbottom, Duke of Montrose  
> Lady Padma Patil  
> Lady Parvatia Patil  
> Miss Lavender Brown  
> Miss Luna Lovegood  
> Mr Ronald Weasley


	4. Chapter 3 : Old Friends and New (Ep1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
> 

When Hermione rose from her bed the next morning, she had not expected what had greeted her - Ginny, sitting on the edge of Hermione’s bed, a wide grin on her face. She looked far too delighted with herself, and whatever schemes she had cooked up during the night, and it made Hermione want to bury herself back underneath all of the blankets.

“Ginny, I can’t,” she groaned, trying to roll over and go back to sleep, despite knowing that rolling around would surely make her hair even more of a mess than it already was.

“I told the cook to prepare extra biscuits, for all of your suitors,” Ginny said with a grin. “And I sent Harry off on a whole list of errands, so that he would not be hovering nearby. It is, after all, your first time receiving suitors, and I expect the room to be full before noon.”

Hermione threw the blankets off at that, one eyebrow raised as she looked at her sister-in-law. Had it finally happened? Had Ginny actually gone insane?

“Gin, I didn’t dance with anyone. I barely spoke to anyone we did not already know. I merely clung to Harry all evening and did my best to not look absolutely horrified. I’ll be shocked if this house even gets a nod today.”

Ginny rolled her eyes, waving a hand as though dismissing all of Hermione’s thoughts, and rose up from the bed, brushing out her skirt.

“Even I had a room full of suitors after my first ball, and everyone knew that Harry had already spoken to Papa before the season had even begun. You will have a number of them, I swear it. Most will likely be boys that have been dragged here by their mama, but a few will be suitable.”

Hermione said nothing as Ginny began moving around the room, opening up the curtains, shifting through her wardrobe, and Hermione wondered where the maid was - ah, hovering by the door, peaking in. They were likely terrified of whatever had set Ginny Weasley Potter on a rampage.

“Out, Gin,” Hermione said, tossing off her blankets completely and rising from her bed. “I shall get dressed, break my fast, and then meet you in the sitting room. We shall await whatever suitors arrive or do not arrive. And I shall eat my fill of biscuits while we are at it.”

Hermione agreeing to entertain the notion seemed to be enough for Ginny, who gave her a bright smile that reminded Hermione far too much of the woman’s mother. She took in a deep breath as a maid entered and Ginny left, leaving Hermione to her thoughts.

“Keep my hair down today,” she said absent mindedly towards the maid. She knew it was vexing for them, but her hair was not happy after being in the odd updo the night before. “We’ll just pin the front back. And after I’m dressed, ask that the stableboy prepare my horse for after lunch. I suspect I shall want to escape this house sooner rather than later.”

* * *

Ginny had continued to be a bundle of energy all through breakfast, until eventually, Hermione was sitting beside her on the couch, reading through a book. It was likely not appropriate for a young Lady, which was why she had a bit of stitching on her lap. She did enjoy the stitching, but she did not see the point in having such pretty little embroiders upon everything.

Ginny was working on another piece with small delicate flowers around the hem, and Hermione knew, without asking, what it was likely to be. Ginny had been working on a variety of very small items for some time, insisting each and every time that they were for her brothers’ children. 

The problem was, only one was married, and he already had a number of little girls with little dresses, his wife having spent each of her pregnancies stitching away. 

Hermione knew who Ginny was sewing for, and it was not her brothers.

She wanted to bring it up, to talk about it, but Harry and Ginny had only been married nine months. Why, it was entirely possible that Ginny was with child right then, although it always did take a little time to completely confirm it. She spent a bit of time watching her sister-in-law sew, watching for some bit of joy or brightness in her eyes, but all she saw was annoyance.

And perhaps a bit of sadness.

“I don’t understand,” Ginny said, for likely the tenth time in the past hour. “It has been receiving hours for some time.”

It was nearly time for lunch, but Hermione would not point that out. That would draw Ginny’s attention directly back towards her, and she knew the wrath she would endure.

“Perhaps everyone is tired from the first ball,” Hermione insisted, trying to soothe Ginny’s antics. “It was a late night, and you know what Harry said about the Gentlemen. Most were heading to the club afterwards. Any time Harry goes to the club at night, he always comes home smelling of cigars and bourbon, and it is always very late.”

Never of perfume. He never came back smelling of perfume. It was very rare that he _would_ go out so late, despite what he had implied in his discussion with the Duke, but it was enough to know that the men went home closer to morning than to evening.

The Duke of Wiltshire. It was the first time that he had crossed her mind all morning, but now that she had thought of him…

It was unlikely that she would see the gentleman again. 

Still, upon reflection… He had been well spoken, for what few words he had said to her. He had smiled at her brother, so a true friend. He had laughed, even, which was always nice, that a man would show such emotion. And he was… attractive… if he was your sort. He was a bit pointy, and his hair long and so white. He would look better, she thought, if he cut it shorter, perhaps. At the nape of his neck. 

His eyes, though… His eyes had been gray… except not gray. Silver. His eyes had been silver. Something about them had mystified her, and thinking on it more, she almost regretted not looking back at him as she had walked away. What would it have mattered, if she had given him one last glance?

Still, it would be best to put him out of her thoughts. A Rake for a husband? They had far too many opinions and demands. No, she would not marry a Rake. He was already immediately off the list of suitable future husbands.

Still, such a pity about the Duke of Montrose. He would have been so easily pliable, had he not already been in love with Lady Parkinson.

The door opened, revealing the housekeeper, who looked… tense. She immediately entered the room and went to Ginny’s side, whispering something into her sister’s ear. Hermione tilted her head slightly, waiting to hear what was going on, when Ginny quickly shot up off the sofa, setting her stitching aside.

And then, Hermione heard it - a knocking at the door. A visitor had come calling. A gentleman suitor.

“Stay here,” Ginny said. “I will see our caller in the Dining Room.”

Hermione rose from her seat, book in hand, as she looked towards the door. Why would Ginny take a caller in the Dining Room? Whomever it was, even if it was not a Gentleman, there was no reason to be rude.

“No, Ginny, it’s perfectly alright,” Hermione said, moving deeper into the sitting room, so that she might have a bit of space. “I can leave if you would like.”

“You will stay here,” Ginny insisted, moving quickly to leave the room. The housekeeper was a step behind her, and then the door was closing, leaving Hermione by herself.

She wanted to follow, but something in her told her to remain within the room. Still, she could not resist completely, and instead went to the door, listening. The front door opened, and the caller was greeted, and being led to the Dining Room.

“What? But the Sitting Room is this way,” the voice, _Ron’s_ , said.

Hermione gasped, quickly turning and pressing her back against the door.

No. No no no. She could not do this, would not do this.

How had she not made herself clear? She had told him that she would not marry, no matter how times he asked. She did not want children, and told him so time and again. She did not want to set off on some grand adventure to make a fortune. She did not want the life that Ron wanted to lead.

He never understood her love for books and knowledge. He would never take her to museums or art galleries. He would mock her for spending coin on something so absurd as reading and writing materials.

She liked Ron, she did, but not in the way that mattered. Not in a way that she could ignore everything else. Not in a way that she could ignore everything wrong with him.

“Are you drunk?” Ginny hissed at her brother. “Really?”

“Come on, Gin, where’s ‘Mione at?” he mumbled out, only just clear enough that Hermione had to guess at the words.

“You will call her _Miss Potter_ ,” Ginny snapped. “And she already turned you down, Ron.”

“Yeah, well that was back when she wasn’t getting married. Now she wants to be married.”

Hermione’s teeth bit into her bottom lip as she remained silent, not wanting to even breathe, in case he might hear it. He was certainly not wrong. At the end of the day, she had never included the words _to you_. She had let him down gently, simply expressing her lack of desire to wed.

It was all coming back now to bite her. She had let him down gently, and now, he believed there was a chance.

Hermione would never understand this obsession that Ron had with her. It had all begun when Harry had returned from his first year at University. The Weasley family also had a house within the city, where they stayed while term was out, which meant that Harry and Ron often spend time away from school together as well, with their little sisters trailing behind. In turn, Harry had met Ginny, and Ron had met Hermione. 

The boys had once teased that they would be brothers one day. Hermione had not realized, until two years earlier, that Ron meant to marry her.

She should have been cruel when she turned him down. This was the sort of scandal that could blow everything up in her face. There had been no society pages this morning, as far as she was aware, but a scandal such as this, that Ron Weasley was following her about, trying for her hand after childhood crushes…

It would be enough to scare off other suitors. Or, bring to light other secrets from her childhood.

This could not be born. It must be ended.

“If you wish to speak to Hermione, then you can do so when Harry is present. You must leave, Ron. Go home, and sober up. Have you even been to see mama? She was surprised when I told her you were in the city.”

“I just want to see Hermione,” Ron mumbled, and it sounded so pathetic, Hermione nearly threw open the door to go to him.

Except, being soft and taking pity on him was how she ended up in this place. 

She was not going to marry Ronald Weasley. It was not something up for discussion. She just needed him to realize this, before any other misunderstandings grew from there.

“Go home,” Ginny repeated.

There was silence, and then the front door closed. Hermione breathed out a sigh of relief, and then the door to the Sitting Room pushed open against her back. Hermione stepped away and turned around to see Ginny standing there, a sad look on her face.

“I’ll speak to Harry about this,” Ginny said, letting out a sigh as she went back to the couch.

“No. I’ll speak to him,” Hermione said, closing her book and setting it on a side table. “He and I have plans to go riding after lunch, once he has returned. I was too gentle with Ronald before… but I shall make it clear to him that my answer has not changed.”

Ginny nodded, the sadness very clear on her face as she looked at her sewing. She began it again, leaving Hermione to head upstairs and get changed into her riding attire. It was quite obvious that no suitors were going to come calling. 

None save for Ron.

* * *

Harry had not said much when he returned home. Ginny had pulled him aside, telling him of the caller that had come for Hermione, and the lack of any others. When Hermione asked Harry to go riding with her, that seemed to be enough for him to understand what discussion they were about to have.

Ron was his oldest and dearest friend, but Hermione might be about to put that in danger, if she continued denying him.

Her brother remained silent as they rode, until eventually, Hermione drew up the horse under a bit of shade. Harry had slowed beside her, waiting for her to speak. This was one of the few things that Hermione was not very good at, and yet, it gave her a bit of freedom. 

Going for a walk meant prying eyes. Working in the garden was something one did not do in the city. By being in the house, anyone could enter the room.

But out riding… They had seen a few others, but now, deep within the park, there was none nearby. They could speak freely. Hermione could be free.

“Ron thinks himself in love with me.”

She had never said those words out loud before, not so clearly, but they had to be said now.

“Two years ago, he asked me to marry him. It was just after _they_ died, and he thought that I would want to be married and have children before I grew any older. He insisted, now that he was done with University, that it was time for him to travel and experience the world, and he wanted me to go with him.”

Harry remained silent, and she knew it was not that he had nothing to say. No, her brother simply knew that it would take a moment for her to get it all out. She appreciated that about him, that he let her finish a thought, before starting a new one.

“I messed up. I told him that I did not want to marry, which at the time was true, but I never told him why I would never marry him. I was tired, and Fleur had just given birth to their second, and Victoire was running everywhere, and I was still grieving, and I just cried and told him I never wanted to be a mother or have a husband. I think… I think he thought I just needed time.”

And she had, in a way. With time, she had realized what opportunities a married woman could have, the good they could do within the world if they were married. 

Harry still said nothing, and Hermione tried to not become annoyed, except… well, she was done. She looked over at her brother, raising an eyebrow, and after a moment, Harry looked at her as well. He raised a brow in response. It was a staring contest between them, and then he threw up his hands.

“Well? You haven’t told me yet what you actually want. You have to decide what you want, Hermione. I already told you, I’m not making decisions for you.”

Hermione… she knew that she had to make her decision, all by herself. If Harry had any control over it, he would have her married to the man that she loved, to the man that made her happy, that would provide for her, and grant her everything she wished for. The problem was… such a man did not exist, could not exist.

She also knew that, really, Harry would rather she not be seeking a husband at all. After all, Hermione enjoyed being a Governess, enjoyed teaching students, enjoyed learning. Surely, there would soon be more young Weasley children, and Potter children as well. She could enjoy a quiet life as a Governess. 

To have a season, to seek out a husband, that was her decision, and while Harry would support it, he would not be the deciding vote. Forcing her into matrimony when he thought she was doing it for foolish reasons… She appreciated that Harry wanted her to have control of her own life, but he did not understand the position of a woman, that her gender and the nature of her birth meant she could have no happy ending.

She must find a position. A permanent one. One that would be secure, that would grand her the privileges she needed to achieve her dreams. One could find happiness without love. Harry simply just didn’t understand that.

“Can’t you just be more agreeable,” she snapped at him, wishing she had a book or something to hit him with. “Be a proper brother, find me a match, and make it happen.”

She was being absurd, of course. Even if she demanded it, Harry would never do so. Partially because… well, he still had some absurd notion that she should fall in love, but also, because he had promised his father that he would never force Hermione into anything she did not want… not that his father had needed to extract that promise.

“What do you want me to say?” Harry demanded, looking far too annoyed with her. “If I were to take your choice, I would wed you to one of my friends. Ron, or Neville, or… god forbid, Draco.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, knowing all of that. She knew that normally, a brother would make a friendly match, one which would keep his friends close, along with his sister. 

“Yes, yes, except I do not want to marry Ron, Neville is in love with Pansy Parkinson, and Draco Malfoy is a Rake,” she said, releasing the reins from one hand so that she could withdraw a fan from her side pocket, trying to reach out and hit him with it.

“Exactly,” Harry said, moving his horse just out of the way of her. “You could never love Ron, Neville is- wait, he’s in love with who?”

Hermione rolled her eyes, not even willing to discuss this with her brother, and kicked her feet into her horse’s side, ready to move on from this spot. The two of them would get nowhere. Finding a match, it would not be done so on a ride in the park.

“Tell me what you wish me to do, and I will do it,” Harry said after he caught back up to her, reaching out to grab the reins to slow her horse.

She was forced then to look at him, a sad look on her face. She shook her head, uncertain of the answer.

“I don’t know. I don’t know what I want. I had a plan, and a list, and an idea, except… I didn’t know what we were truly getting into. I thought I had everything covered, except no one is interested, or everyone is interested, or…”

Only Ron. Ron was her only caller. And Ron was _not_ an option.

“Do you want me to handle Ron?” Harry said slowly, releasing the reins.

Hermione looked down at the ground, and then up at her brother. She knew that she should be the one to handle this, but it would be so easy to just let Harry take care of it. Ronald would listen to Harry, would listen if, man to man, he was told it was over, to end his petition… but then, that would ruin their friendship. It would place Harry in the horrid position of picking between his wife’s family and his family. It would force Ginny to choose between her brother and her new sister-in-law. No. She could not place that burden upon them. 

She could handle this. She _would_ handle this.

Her teeth bit into her bottom lip, and then Hermione shook her head. She could do this. She could tell Ron the answer was no, that was final, and it was not up for discussion.

This had to end before it got any bigger than it already was.

* * *

**_Dearest Readers,_ ** _the strangest thing has occurred! The Breath of Fresh Air, the one that every mama insisted must be the wife of their eligible son… has received only one caller. Mr Ron Weasley, the youngest of Baron Weasley’s many sons, has been seen lurking outside of Potter House. It does not look as though he has gained admittance as of yet… perhaps there is something wrong with the young Miss Potter!_

_Or perhaps, she finds herself too good to receive the son of a Baron._

_A pity, particularly given that the daughter of a Baron was good enough for her brother._

_Something is amiss at Potter House, and I mean to find out what it is. A scandal, a rumor, something, anything… Dear Readers, Miss Potter is not all that she seems. Why, at the Nottingham Ball, she was seen speaking to nearly every gentleman there, and yet, not a single one asked her to dance. Is she waiting for someone in particular? Is there something about her that pushes every gentleman away?_

_I do not want to insinuate that any of our esteemed Matrons of the Ton are liars, but the Breath of Fresh Air appears to be nothing. Absolutely nothing at all._

_What a shame._

_In other news! The Marquees of Salisbury is gracing us all with his presence, and oh, what a presence indeed. Every young mama most certainly has her eye on him as well, although I doubt it is with their daughters in mind. This writer thinks that he should be wary of each of the husbands of the Ton, before a duel breaks out from one growing too jealous of his wife receiving such attention._

_Also joining the Marquees in residence at Nottingham House is the Duke of Wiltshire, a most eligible bachelor indeed. The Duke has been overheard on numerous occasions telling anyone that will listen that he has no intention of marrying, whether it be this season or the next._

_There has been no word on whether or not the Duke of Nottingham will be taking up residence within his own house, even with his close friends there, along with his stepmother, Lady Parkinson. Still, I raise this challenge to every young Lady of the Ton._

_There are three eligible bachelors within Nottingham House, should the Duke return as well. Three, all unwed, all handsome, all in need of a wife. Should you wish to make a match this season, might I recommend gaining the friendship of Lady Parkinson?_

_If you can bear dealing with her insufferable presence, of course._

**_Lady Whistledown_ **

* * *

Draco grinned as Potter arrived at the club, looking not quite as polished as he and Blaise were, but dressed appropriately all the same. It was of no surprise to him that Potter was the first among their merry band to be wed - he was the family sort. To marry a Weasley… well, Draco had never understood the close friendship between Potter and Weasley, but still, he could have married up, if he had so chosen.

The Viscountess had looked lovely, though, if one could ignore the color of her hair. The way that Potter had looked at her, and she had looked back, it was certainly a love match. He had heard that the elder Potters had married for love as well. He could only imagine that the whole family believed in love over status or title.

Except for his sister. Potter’s sister was… different. He couldn’t quite place his finger on it, but something about her… Was not worth thinking about. Of course not. She was a debutante, and he was an eligible bachelor. There was only one reason for him to be thinking about such a girl, and he was not interested.

“Potter. Long time no see,” Blaise said, shifting in his seat to pick up the decanter and pour a glass for their guest. “Malfoy told me that he saw you a few nights back at Pansy’s Ball. Tell me, did you enjoy yourself?”

Potter gave them both a nod, verging on a bow, but seemed to rethink it, instead taking a seat and picking up a glass. The man gave it a good sniff, likely checking the quality, and personally, Draco was a bit insulted - they had never drank cheap at University - why would they do so now, particularly since Draco now had an entire fortune… or he would, once he finished dealing with all of the legalities of his father’s estate.

Blaise gave Draco a smirk, and he returned it, the pair of them watching Potter finally take a sip. He gave a wince - of course he did. He was unused to drinking as heavily as Draco and Blaise. A family man… it meant he had no reason to be drinking such strong liquor. Drinking was good. It kept one from having to think too much.

The burn was good. It felt real. It kept them grounded, when everything else was falling to shit.

“I would have rather not been in attendance,” Potter finally said, sitting back with his glass in hand, relaxing into the chair. “But, my sister required an escort, and there is no other that I could trust with her well-being.”

It was clear from the way that he spoke of his sister that he loved her… but Draco had never heard much about her. She was a secret, of that he had always known - Potter’s closest confidant and friend, something he kept treasured. Now that he had met her, Draco did not see the great allure. What was so precious about his little sister?

“Yes, yes, this sister,” Blaise grinned as he cut himself off, leaning in towards Potter. “Draco told me nothing about her, but Pansy has been going on and on about what a delight she is. Please, you must tell me more.”

Potter stopped in his motions of swirling the liquor in his glass, looking up slowly towards Blaise. For a brief moment, Draco recognized the look - it was pure hatred. Rage. Anger towards one’s very being. He had seen that look before, on his father, after Draco had stumbled with his words.

Well then. It appeared that, no matter how unremarkable Miss Potter was, she was a topic that was off limits.

“You will not speak of my sister,” Potter said, pointing a finger at Blaise. “She is not one for your games.”

Blaise raised both his hands, as though showing he meant no offense, then quickly took a sip of his drink, settling back into chair before he responded. . “I just wanted to know what it was about her that has made Draco go so silent. Normally, he would have some sort of an insult, particularly given the season it is.”

Draco leaned forward, answering before Potter could even think about a reason as to why Draco had not insulted his sister, even in private to Blaise. “Because I respect Potter, and in turn, respect his family. I barely spoke two words to his sister. She is a young woman looking for a husband, and that husband will not be myself. What more is there to say?”

Blaise’s hands went up again, but then they fell, his shoulders shrugging as though to feign indifference, but something about the set of his jaw had Draco questioning his motives. Still, Draco instead turned to look at Potter, who was staring at him, a question clear on his face, before he wiped it away with a sip of his drink, relaxing back into his chair.

“My sister is… not like the other debutantes.” 

Draco highly doubted that - every woman wanted the same thing. Love, money, status, children.

“She is educated, and would do well at university, if she could attend. I did not expect her to want to enter into society this season, or any season for that matter. She has no need for a husband. I would be happy to keep her in my home, but she has decided that she wants to make her own way, and she must do so with a husband. I have no control over her, nor do I wish to have any. Hermione will do as she will, and I ask that you both keep your distance, if you do not intend to marry her.”

Draco was silent as he listened, hearing but not understanding. What young woman would not wish to marry? Perhaps his sister was simply fearing spinsterhood, or perhaps Potter’s young Weasley wife had begun speaking of motherhood and a large family.

Still, again, not his concern. Draco had no intention of marrying the girl. He would respect Potter’s wishes. After all, he had no reason to speak to her at all. He had one use for women, and virgin debutantes were not suitable.

“Of course,” Blaise said, taking another sip of his drink. “I have no reason to want to find a wife this season. Not when there are so many lovely ladies I have not yet said hello to.”

His grin said that he had been seeing a number of… ladies… already. 

“Do you even plan to find a wife at all?” Draco asked, turning to look at his friend with a raised brow.

Blaise gave him a grin, and then lifted his glass, as though in a toast. “Ah, gentlemen, I think I shall not, for indeed, I have the benefit of something that both of you lack… brothers!”

Draco snorted into his glass while Potter sipped at his own, likely to keep from making a crude comment. Blaise might be in possession of a great many brothers, but they were all bastards. He highly doubted that anyone would accept Blaise passing off his title to a bastard.

“And you?” Potter asked, now looking towards Draco. “I know you have professed it a great many times, but now that your father is dead…”

Draco took another sip of his drink, then leaned forward, setting it down on the table itself. He sat back in his chair, legs spread, arms on either rest, contemplating the thought. Neither Potter or Blaise looked to rush him, though. They both knew that Draco often took time to speak his mind.

“When he passed… I went to visit old Lucius. I wanted to ask him why he did it. Why he pushed my mother to death. Of course, the arsehole had to die before I got the chance, but I found it, in a letter to his solicitor. The reason why he needed an heir, even when he had cousins.”

He wished for that glass in his hand, now, wanting to break it, to throw it. Instead, his eyes remained on the decanter of liquid. He wanted to drink more, but if he consumed anything else, he would end up drunk, and it was barely even past noon. He could not be drunk at the club when there was still daylight for many hours.

“It was all to keep it out of the hands of French cousins. Can you imagine? He didn’t even necessarily want a child. He just wanted an heir, so that he could keep from passing the Malfoy land to some French nobleman that barely escaped the Revolution.”

He shrugged his shoulders, then shook his head.

“I think the best way to shove it to old Lucius would be to knowingly hand it to the very cousins he wanted to keep it away from.”

He wanted to speak of his mother, how his mother deserved better, how he was likely to be as horrid a husband as his father had been, how he feared becoming obsessed with the desire for an heir…

Instead, he kept his silence.

“Sounds like bullshit to me,” Potter said, taking a last drain of his glass before setting it on the table. “But, if you want to live a life of debauchery and loneliness, then that is your choice. I shall enjoy going home to my wife each night, knowing that I have love in my bed and my heart.”

Draco did not have to look up to see Blaise’s eyes rolling, but he eventually did, just in time to see Longbottom walk up. He looked taller, stood a bit straighter than he had at university, but all Draco could see when he looked at him was a lad far too similar to himself.

Of course, where Draco had stumbled with words, Longbottom had stumbled with… everything else.

Being able to shoot, to climb, to ride, to fence, it meant that, while Draco was often quiet, he could prove his worth. There was no question that he could best most of them in arithmetic and writing, that he was advanced in his reading, that he could perform all of the Lordly sports…

Longbottom, for as much as he could talk, bumbled his way through every sport, often endangering himself and others. When others laughed, Draco had looked away. It perhaps made him look a bit cold to others, but Draco had not wanted to befriend him… or avoid him, lest others discover his own secret failings.

Potter noticed him next, and immediately stood, a grin on his lips. Good. This meant that Draco himself would not have to say the first word in greeting. He was always horrid at that, starting a conversation, particularly when he did not want to have one at all.

“Neville!” Potter said, reaching out his hand in greeting. How odd, that Potter would be so casual towards a Duke, particularly since he had insisted on calling Draco by his new title the other night. Perhaps it was a bit of formality? He would much prefer to stick with last names. It was much more casual, more relaxed, particularly for old schoolmates.

“Harry,” Longbottom said, taking the proffered hand and giving him a shake and a nod. He turned towards Blaise and Draco, and Draco gave him a nod, while Blaise raised his glass.

“Longbottom,” Draco said in greeting, trying to keep it a bit more casual, particularly since they were of similar status, now.

Neville Longbottom, for all of his awkwardness, had been Duke of Montrose since they were all in school. Draco had been but an Earl then, while Blaise had been a Viscount, and Potter held no title of his own. It was interesting, now, to look around and see what they had become. Potter married, and a Viscount, with a sister he was trying to marry off. Blaise, a Marquees, with a whole line of younger brothers to follow him. Longbottom, still unmarried, still a Duke. And Draco…

He was a Duke himself, now. No longer hidden in the shadows, no longer an embarrassment. Still unwed, but he planned to stay that way.

“Tell me, Neville, why is it that my sister spoke of you?” Potter said, sitting up, brow raised.

That caught Draco’s attention as well, and he shifted forwards in his seat, forearms going over his knees. Longbottom? Married to Potter’s sister? Well, it might make sense on paper. The girl could go no higher than being a Duchess. The two were old school mates. She seemed intelligent, and Pansy had mentioned something about the Dowager Duchess being amused by Miss Potter, but still…

Something about the thought of Neville Longbottom marrying Miss Potter didn’t sit right in Draco’s stomach. It was not a smart match. Not a match that made sense.

Longbottom looked confused, his brow raised, and he took a step back, just before Potter saved him. 

“She said you were quite in love with Lady Parkinson.”

Draco heard the words in his ears, repeating, over and over again. Longbottom, in love with Lady Parkinson. With Lady Parkinson. Longbottom quite in love with Lady Parkinson. Pansy. Neville Longbottom in love. Neville, in love with Pansy.

Draco looked up just in time to see realization also hit Blaise’s face, and then his friend was spitting out the rather expensive whiskey all over Potter, who immediately flinched as the spit and liquor hit the side of his face.

Meanwhile, all Draco could do was stare at Neville in horror.

“Have you gone mad?” he asked, his voice dropping low.

“I, she is quite lovely!” Longbottom said, taking a step back. “Why? Have you already spoken to her about marriage?”

“Marrying Pansy?” Blaise cut in with a laugh. “I’d sooner cut my own prick off.”

Potter looked at them both with confusion, then with a bit of sadness towards Longbottom. Truly, he was in love with her? Not even denying it?”

“Honestly, Longbottom, have a go at it, but she would sooner kill you than bed you,” Draco said, eyeing the decanter.

Gods above, if this was the conversation he had to suffer through… he leaned forward, pouring himself another glass, then drained it. The burn was rich in his throat, and it helped to clear the confusion in his head.

“So, you think I don’t have a chance?” Longbottom asked, shoulders slumping, making the Lord look far smaller than he actually was.

Draco let out a sigh, then sat back in his chair, considering it. Pansy had no intention of getting married again, as far as he was aware. She was enjoying her freedom, from her parents, from her sisters, from her husband, from society’s expectations… And in truth, he barely knew enough about Longbottom to make a true judgement.

But, it wasn’t like anyone else was lining up to marry a woman that was rumored to have killed her husband, _with the help of his son_. She deserved a little something to shake up her life, particularly after the stunt she pulled at the ball the other night.

“Tell you what, Longbottom,” Draco said, rising from his seat and offering Longbottom his hand. “Next time I see you at a ball, I’ll lead Pansy right over, and introduce the pair of you officially. It’s up to you to get her on the dance floor.”

“Pansy doesn’t dance,” Blaise said, cutting in, and Draco snapped his fingers towards him, not wanting to hear anything more.

“All I need is an introduction,” Longbottom said, a grin sliding over his face. He reached over and took Draco’s hand, shaking it, and gave him a nod. For the first time, he did not look like a bumbling fool. He looked confident, like he knew what he was doing. He looked like a man that could seduce a woman as ice cold as Pansy.

He looked like he had just gotten what he wanted, and Draco had played into it.

And then, Longbottom had turned to shake Potter’s hand, slipping on a bit of the liquid from Blaise’s earlier laughter, and nearly collided with Potter’s chair.

Idiots. How any of them were actually titled Lords was completely beyond him.

* * *

Going to the Opera was certainly not something Hermione wanted to do, but being seen out and about in society was a basic requirement when one was out for the season. She must be seen, to be sociable, to be like all the other young girls, enjoying the finest things of life. And so, without complaint, she put on her pretty dress, allowed the maids to struggle with her hair, and joined Ginny as they went out for the evening, leaving Harry at home to relax.

He had come back from the Club that day with a good bit of liquor in him, making him quite entertaining at dinner, which led to him wanting an early evening. It all worked out in the end, Ginny had whispered, wanting an evening of girl time.

What Hermione had not expected, when they entered the opera hall, was for Lady Parkinson to ambush them immediately, inviting them to join her in her private box.

Furthermore, Lady Waterford had stopped by as well after the first half, asking Hermione how she was enjoying the season. Hermione had fumbled her way through an answer while Lady Parkinson and Ginny looked on, and when the Marchioness walked away, all she felt was embarrassed.

She was far from a breath of fresh air. She knew it. The ton knew it. And now, Lady Andromeda Black Tonks knew it.

As the second half began, Hermione had taken her seat, watching the orchestra. She did not look away, did not look towards other balconies, did not look towards Lady Waterford who sat with the Dowager Duchess of Montrose. She did not look towards any of the other young ladies, to the Patil twins, to Miss Brown.

She did not even look at Miss Lovegood, who had been so kind earlier in giving her a smile.

She simply stared straight ahead, unwilling to let anyone see her flinch, to let anyone see her shame. She had started off this season with simple hopes of finding a match that would suit her. From there, she had somehow become so well known within the Ton, it had frightened her. And now?

Now, the only suitor she had was what she would not take, and everyone knew it, because of those stupid society papers.

“It is not as though anyone else knows the truth of him,” she overheard Lady Parkinson whispering.

Hermione tried to close her ears to the music, but did not flinch, did not look back, instead, simply trying to overhear the conversation.

“If nothing else, they could have a lovely conversation. My Harry has always said that the Duke was so well spoken in school, and outperformed everyone else in their marks. Our Hermione, she would have done well, if she were allowed to attend a University. If nothing else, they could be friends.”

“Friends, allies, if she simply speaks to him, it will lead other girls to try as well, and in time, he will find the right one.”

“And in seeing her talk to the Duke, my brother will leave her alone.”

It seemed the two were up to something… and Hermione was not so foolish that she could not guess what their intentions were. A set up, to put Hermione towards the Duke of Wiltshire. Well then. Idiots. Clearly, Ginny knew nothing about her. And Lady Parkinson, to have the audacity…

“You will invite him over for dinner, then?” Lady Parkinson whispered.

“Consider him invited,” Ginny whispered back.

“And, it is accepted.”

Hermione did not flinch, did not glance back, did not move, barely even breathed.

A set up, between herself and that… _Rake_ . Well then. She would simply need to be on her _best_ behavior at dinner.

* * *

Hermione had suffered through every last bit of dinner, smiling politely as each course was served, speaking when spoken to, and had smiled at the Duke in turn. Harry had been staring at her the whole time in confusion; Ginny was fuming, and the Duke looked to be just as annoyed as she felt.

When Ginny returned with a Green Apple Pie, though, Hermione saw the Duke’s eyes light up. Ah. That was how Lady Parkinson had decided Ginny could lure him in. With dessert.

Of course, Hermione knew that Ginny’s mother had made the treat. Her pies were by far the best in London, even if it was not socially acceptable for a Lady to spend her time baking. She covered it up, to those not close to the family, by saying it was simply family recipes that she had given to the cook.

Hermione recognized those seams. Baroness Weasley’s hands had been all over this pie.

“How delicious,” the Duke said politely to Harry, his fork quickly going into his slice to enjoy the first bite.

Hermione could not help but to speak up. “Yes, I believe that Lady Parkinson told Ginny about how it was your favorite dessert, when she was setting the two of us up.”

He choked on the first bite, as assumed, looking at her in surprise. It was the first time all evening she had spoken out of turn.

Harry’s arms had crossed over his chest as he looked at Ginny, and Ginny smiled, clearly delighted with herself, for some reason or another. That just annoyed Hermione more - she should be annoyed that Hermione was ruining her chances with the Duke, not pleased that Hermione had finally shown her true nature.

“A set up?” the Duke finally choked out, and he swallowed his mouthful, seeming to forget to chew. “I mean, I was aware of it, but I thought the idea to have been yours!”

Hermione snorted into her drink, having already picked it up, and took a sip before responding.

“You thought that I would go through my sister-in-law to reach out towards your hostess, all because I desired… what, your esteemed presence at dinner this evening?”

She snorted again, taking a sip, and looked up to see Harry was draining his glass of wine.

Ginny was still grinning, although politely eating her pie, clearly not willing to take part in this conversation.

“Well, I knew that your brother had already warned me to stay away from you, but many within the Ton will do anything to see themselves married to a Duke.”

Hermione slammed down her glass as she looked towards Harry, who now looked terrified, as though he realized he had screwed up.

“You warned him away from me?” Hermione asked, fighting the urge to rise from the table. “After I told you that this was my decision. Harry, you promised not to interfere!”

“I did not think you would want to marry Wiltshire!” Harry said, throwing up his hands.

“I am not interested-”

“You said it to be my decision! That means it is mine,” Hermione said, not even noticing the Duke speaking. “Either the decision is mine, Harry, or it is not. You must make that decision for yourself. Will you betroth me to someone that is not your friend, someone you do not know, or will you instead allow me to meet gentlemen at my own pace, and find the one that suits me best?”

She was older than Harry by nearly a year. He could not control her, and he knew that, but for him to command someone away from her… to command that someone avoid her all together…

“I doubt anyone would want to marry you,” drawled the Duke.

Hermione’s attention turned to him slowly, and she felt rage begin to build in her. How… how _dare_ he.

He continued, “After all, you’re just like all the others, although you seem to think you’re something special, thinking you have a choice. You don’t, you know. You’re just another girl with a dowry and an overprotective brother. Too young, too innocent to understand the world. You think you know better than anyone else, but he’s just trying to protect you from Rakes like myself.”

“As if I would ever be interested in you,” she said with a sneer, tensing her shoulders and thinning her eyes. 

“Nor I, you,” he said, lifting his glass to his lips. “You just want some fairytale romance, like your parents. A girl falls in love with a Lord, gives her a pretty house and pretty children, and she has no worry left in the world. You know nothing of the truth of marriage.”

Hermione froze where she sat, hearing his words. A marriage… like her parents. Marrying a Duke, no care in the world, children, an easy life… an easy… was that…

She set down her napkin and picked up her gloves, slipping them back onto her hands. She then cleared her throat, and rose from her seat, turning to look at Ginny, who looked sad, and then at Harry, who was so stricken, he did not even rise from his chair, as the Duke had done.

“And you, your Grace, will also be alone, because, for all of your wealth and status, you are still a Rake, still rude and haughty and proud, and you will still be alone. You think that just because you are a Duke, you can have what you want, but rank does not make you better than others. It does not grant you happiness. I might be young, but I have twice the intelligence of you. I am fully aware of the realities of marriage. You would do well to not judge those you do not know.”

The room was silent as she stood there for a moment, then gave her brother a slide nod to her head. “Please excuse me, brother, as I am suddenly having quite the headache. I think I shall go lay down.”

It was a lie, of course, but it would grand Harry an excuse, given the display she had just put on. A part of her knew it to be unacceptable, but - had the Duke not made it clear that he was not a suitor? He was one of Harry’s friends, and he had no expectations of her. She would not sit there and tolerate a set up, nor would she allow any insult. 

But Harry… Harry meddling. He said he would make no decisions for her… and yet, he made decisions! A hypocrite! Of course, she had also said she would make her own decisions, and then floundered, but-

Now, she felt as though she was drowning, and the only thing she could do was escape out of the dining room, and straight to her room, where she might find a bit of peace.

* * *

Draco stood there in silence, watching where the girl, Miss Potter, had disappeared to. He was not certain what part of his words he had spoken were so wrong, but clearly, he had made a grievous error.

Potter said nothing, nor his wife, who had risen as well, and was donning her own gloves.

“It was so lovely to have you in our home this evening, your Grace, but I do believe that you gentlemen may want to have privacy. I will not stay where I am not wanted.”

She leaned in towards Potter, who had risen with his wife, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. Potter returned it, and when they pulled back… Draco could see what it was Potter said, when he spoke of his wife.

It was a look of love and adoration. 

It was not a look that Draco would ever enjoy.

When the Viscountess left the room, Potter returned to his seat, and Draco sat as well, surprised that he was not being dismissed… or, perhaps, moved to another room for drinks.

“I’m going to finish this pie,” Potter finally said. “And… we’re not going to talk about my sister.”

Draco let out a sigh of relief he had not even known he was holding in, and gave a nod, picking up his own fork.

He was two bites in when Potter spoke again, clearing his throat.

“But you’re wrong. She’s not like other girls. I’m not an overprotective brother. Hermione is… determined. She’s far more wise than most in our company. She… I know you think I was raised in pure happiness, but Hermione, she puts herself underneath immense pressure, and for understandable reasons, but she has high expectations of herself, and of her life.”

There was a silence as Potter sniffed, clearly thinking about something, and then he shook his head. Draco still did not speak. He had nothing to add. He did not want to disagree, but… there was nothing remarkable about her. She was just… a girl. Another girl wanting to be married.

“Hermione does not want love. In fact, I think she fears it. What she wants is what she can do as a married woman. In fact… I believe it was because of the success of Lady Parkinson’s own wedding, that Hermione decided to enter this season.”

Draco heard the words, then sat back in his seat, hard, brow raised. Everyone knew that when Pansy had entered the previous season, she had more or less marched up to the old Duke and seduced him from the start. The man had been delighted in a young wife, one of the youngest he would ever have, after having killed the previous few in childbirth each time. 

And then, on their wedding night, he was dead. Pansy was free of her parents and social expectations, and she had estates and property and wealth.

“Does she mean to-”

He could not even force out the words, to ask if Miss Potter actually intended to find an old man to wed, and then off. The old Duke had been known for his cruelty, which was why so many overlooked what had occurred… it had been his heart, people said. A young wife like that, it was too much for him to handle in bed.

They could ignore the death of a cruel old man.

“No, no, nothing like that,” Potter said, waving his hand. “Just, she sees the freedom that Lady Parkinson has found, the autonomy. She wishes to make a match where she has control of her own life, can pursue her own interests. What she seeks is not a husband to give her children and a comfortable life. What she wants is…”

Potter shook his head, then rose from his seat. Draco did the same, leaving behind his mostly eaten pie. It seemed, then, that the evening was at a close.

“It does not matter what my sister wants. You have decided you will not marry. My sister intends to find a husband. She is not for you, and you will not speak to her again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. I made a Facebook. And I'm still using tiktok. And it just got to be so much... I decided to do a [link tree](https://linktr.ee/melanoradrood). So, you can find me at any of those places. And that's all I'm going to say about that. 
> 
> The next chapter will be up Tuesday March 9th and will be titled : An Arrangement
> 
> I have 9 total chapters written and ready to go up, so that means we are WAY ahead. I'm going to be working on some other things this week, including a Theo rarepair, my sex magic fic, and!!! some Saphne smut. So, yeah!
> 
> We met no new characters this week, but a reminder as to whom in all was involved:
> 
> Miss Hermione Potter, sister of Viscount Harry Potter  
> Lady Ginny Weasley Potter, Viscountess  
> Lord Harry Potter, Viscount  
> Mr Ronald Weasley  
> His Grace Draco Malfoy, Duke of Wiltshire  
> Her Grace Pansy Parkinson Nott, Duchess of Nottingham ( husband deceased )  
> Lord Blaise Zabini, Marquees of Salisbury  
> His Grace Neville Longbottom, Duke of Montrose


	5. Chapter 4 : An Arrangement (Ep1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione’s arm was looped with Ginny’s as they approached the ball at Abbott Hall, Harry a step behind them. She still felt a bit in a haze, remembering the words from Lady Whistledown’s latest society papers. 

Instead of Hermione simply being forgotten, a bit of old news, it seemed as though Lady Whistledown had become fixated on her, obsessed with discovering some scandal, or creating one if need be. It was worrying Hermione, about what might be written next, about what truth might be found.

It made her nervous to go out about, to be seen. What if… what if someone knew? What if someone realized the truth about her? What if… What if she was found out? What if  _ they _ sent for her?

It would be within their rights, after all. Hermione was no longer a child, was now considered an adult, but still… She had no freedom, not really. At the end of the day… society would make the decision on her; she must follow the natural order of the world, and if she were still to be unmarried, when the truth came out…

Harry had a rather optimistic view on things, which was unsurprising, given how they had been raised, but Hermione had to be practical. She had no other choice, given her life circumstances.

She had to find a husband, before Lady Whistledown wrote something about her that could not be taken back, that drew the wrong attention to her. She had to find someone that would allow her her freedom. She had to find someone with status and wealth. She had to find protection. And she had to do it tonight.

Before the next bit of Lady Whistledown’s Society Papers came out.

“Look,” said Ginny, looking up at the glittering lights above them. It truly was a bit of wonder and magic, but Hermione could not be delighted in wonder, not when she looked around, and all she saw was… nothing. No one was looking her way. No one was even interested in her. Not even slightly. At least there was no sight of Ron.

Small mercies, perhaps.

There was in attendance, however, the Duke of Wiltshire. He had been insufferable at dinner a few nights earlier in the week, and she had not had to suffer his presence ever since, as Hermione had not left the house, even to promenade, since the night at the Opera. Unfortunately, the Duke was still in residence here in London.

If he had no intention of marrying, and he had no intention of performing any of his Lordly duties, then why was he even here to begin with? Gin had insisted that he was doing something with his father’s estate, and after the disastrous dinner, had urged Hermione to remember that boys tended to have their own problems, which they often considered to be the most important…

Hermione had let Ginny’s words slide in one ear, then out the other. Whatever his problems were, he had land, a title, and vast amounts of money. His problems could not be so large that he treated others with such disdain and outright hatred. He was no better than anyone else. 

Still… she could not look away from him, for some odd reason. His hair was tied back from his face, a first of what she had seen, and when he turned the right way, it simply looked as though his hair was cut much like Harry’s, although much less messy than her brother kept his hair.

In fact, he looked almost handsome, standing there with ease, as though he was born into this, to Lord over a party… well, of course he was. He was a Duke. He was what  _ made _ society, after all.

He looked around as though everyone else was a peasant. His shoulders were back, his jaw set, and his eyes… they kept thinning out as they flickered around the party.

And then, he looked towards her.

Hermione knew she had been caught staring, but she did not look away, instead lifting her chin as she looked back at him. He raised his glass towards her, in greeting, perhaps, and then took a sip. He then looked away, and Hermione saw another young debutante approach him, her mother at her side.

“... look like your father,” the Lady was saying.

The Duke immediately stiffened at her words, and not in a way that said annoyed, or even angry. No, he looked… scared. Horrified. And then, he was setting down his glass, giving a nod towards the woman, and turning to walk away. In fact, he did not even say a word to the woman that had just spoken to him, something that was rather rude, although Hermione could not fault him. There were a number of people she wished she could simply walk away from…

“Hermione, can I speak with you?” came Harry’s voice from beside her, forcing Hermione to look away from the Duke. 

He had disappeared off towards the refreshment table, or perhaps the exit… both would be understandable. In fact, Hermione wished she could disappear at that very moment. She and Harry had not really spoken since the argument over dinner, but this was certainly not the time or place.

Still, she could not refuse, and gave him a nod, letting go of Ginny’s arm, and following Harry a few steps away from the rest of the party go-ers, to speak alone.

When they were more than a few paces from anyone, Hermione forced a pleasant smile over her lips, then turned to look at her brother. She knew that, most likely, no one would look their way… but should she have an unpleasant demeanor, or either of them raise their voices… well, that would be more fuel for the scandal papers, and Hermione would not give them anything, at this point, if she could help it.

“What is it you wanted to talk about?” Hermione asked, forcing herself to keep her smile present as she spoke. Harry, the complete traitor, turned so that his back was towards the crowd, so that it was Hermione’s face they would see, likely all wanting to see her reaction - something that Lady Whistledown would write about, even if they did not hear Harry’s words. 

“Hermione… Hermione, I’m worried about you,” Harry said.

She could not help but to laugh softly, rolling her eyes, then forcing the smile back onto her lips.

“Why would you possibly be worried about me?” she asked, her brow wrinkling slightly.

Harry took her hand, and held it between his. He looked concerned, upset, something… something was bothering him. Like he had a secret. Like he had done something… bad.

“Hermione… I don’t think… I don’t think this whole marriage thing is a good idea.”

Oh for the love of - Her voice nearly raised in pitch, but she brought it back down after the first word out of her mouth. “What, did you expect me to be a governess forever?”

“You said you would never marry,” Harry insisted, taking a step closer to her, his voice lowering. “Then, I get married, and suddenly, you’re wanting to be married as well, talking about finding a husband, about stopping your own schooling, wanting to have schooling for other girls.”

Hermione stared at him for a moment, waiting for the other shoe to drop, but when Harry said nothing more, she rolled her eyes, taking a step back, and withdrawing her hand.

“I changed my mind. Apparently, it is something that young girls often do, as they start to get older. They change their minds about marriage.”

“Not you,” Harry insisted. “You came back all secretive, wanting to change your gowns, wearing your hair down, no longer shoving your nose in a book.”

“Yes, because I had been acting like a girl, before, and now I am trying to grow up,” she insisted, confused as to where this had come from. “Why does it matter, Harry?”

“Because I want you to be happy,” he said, and he crossed his arms across his chest, looking as though he were slightly hunched over. “And… I don’t think you’ll be happy if you get married.”

Ah. There it was. It always came back to the same thing. He didn’t have to say the words, but Hermione already knew exactly what would come out of his mouth next.

“Harry, I’m not going to marry for love. I am happy for you, that you found it, but love is not realistic. It does not keep you warm at night. It does not keep you fed, and clothed. Love… love is a concept that has no use. It is an idea. It is not real.”

Harry looked angry, and his voice rose as he spoke. “Hermione, you can have love and a beneficial marriage. Money will not give you happiness. It will not give you the sense of security you desire. It won’t help you achieve your goals. You deserve happiness, and you want happiness. You should not change yourself, just to be married, you should-”

“Let’s talk about your own decisions,” she snapped, forgetting that anyone could be watching them, listening in. “Let’s talk about how you told the Duke to stay away from me. Let’s talk about how you said I could decide for myself, who I would marry, but you have begun to insist that I not marry at all, or that I marry based on your desires, and then insisting that your friends avoid me. How many others have you warned away.”

She had only half believed that it was more than just the Duke of Wiltshire, but when Harry’s face fell, she realized that there were others. He did not have to speak at all.

“Right. So, you want me to find love, find happiness, but then you tell the people closest to you to not come near me?”

“No,” Harry snapped. “I warned those that would only do you harm to not approach you.”

“That is my decision to make,” Hermione clipped back, taking a step back from Harry. “I’m a grown woman. I am more than capable of seeing who would do me harm.”

“You are still  _ my ward _ ,” he hissed, following after her with a step.

Hermione froze, and a look of realization passed over Harry’s face. He had said that, out loud, in public. Hermione could not believe her ears.

“How  _ dare _ you,” she hissed in response. “I am an adult. I have no need to ask for anyone’s permission to be married, I would have access to my own accounts, if I had any, and I can leave and not return, if I so choose. You have no ability to make decisions for me.”

She turned away from him, not wanting to hear her little brother’s voice again, but it still carried after her as she ran into the garden.

“Hermione… Hermione, wait! I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. Hermione!”

* * *

Hermione was only just inside the Abbott Gardens, still able to see the torches to the entrance where she paced, but it was far enough away from everyone else, she felt at least somewhat alone, able to be angry in peace. There was no judgement from the flowers, no questioning looks from the bushes. She was alone, for just a moment, which was what she truly needed.

How  _ dare _ Harry bring that up. How dare he call her his  _ ward _ . She had not been a ward of the Potters when James and Lily had died, and in fact, they had never treated her as such. She had  _ always _ been their daughter. She had understood, in her younger years, that it was for her protection, but she had doubted it when she was older, when she had looked around and seen how the world worked.

She understood it again now, could not judge them for it, but Harry… Harry had this absurd, fanciful idea that the world worked itself out. He believed in love, in happy endings, in peace. He believed that everything would be alright, that Hermione would find love and happiness, and that the perfect husband for her was just around the corner.

As if love could ever be just around the corner.

“Miss Potter,” came a voice from  _ just around a corner _ , and Hermione turned, seeing - 

No. No. Of all the people she could bear to see this evening, he was not one of them. She simply was not up for it, was not interested in this discussion, was not even interested in entertaining his feelings.

“Miss Potter, what are you doing out here by yourself?”

“ _ Not now, Ronald _ ,” she snapped, still pacing back and forth.

“Such familiarity?” Ron asked, pausing in his steps, an absurd grin on his lips. “So, you’ve decided to accept my proposal then?”

Hermione stopped, turning to look at him, both brows raised, the question clear in her gaze. “Proposal? What- No! Honestly, Ron, tonight is not the night for this discussion.”

“Then when  _ shall _ we discuss it, Hermione? There is no one else, only myself. You know that it is meant to be. It has always been the same, for so many years, ever since I started at University. Always Potter and Weasley, with their little sisters. Gin and Harry are married. When will it be our turn?”

Hermione could not help but to laugh, and in fact, she laughed so hard, her throat hurt in the cold Spring air. She laughed until her sides ached, for indeed, she had never heard something so absurd.

“Why are you laughing at me?” he asked, and he sounded so whiney and pathetic… she could bear it no longer.

“It will  _ never _ be our turn. I will not marry you, Ron. Not now, not ever.”

Ron stared at her for a long moment, and then, the pathetic look transformed into one of anger. He was  _ angry _ with her. Perhaps she deserved his anger, after having laughed at him, but-

“Is this because of my lack of fortune?” he asked, the rage on his face matching his voice.

“What?” she asked, whipping around from where she had begun pacing again to look at him. “No, Ron, this is not-”

“It is!” he insisted. “It’s because I cannot offer you a fortune, that you deny me.”

Her eyes rolled as she threw her arms up into the air. Honestly, men. Why women suffered them, she would never understand. “Ronald, even if you had a fortune, I would not marry you.”

“It’s not my fault I’m a sixth son,” he said, his voice cracking. “It’s not my fault my father is only a Baron. I can still make my fortune, Hermione. I am still from the peerage. I still have claims to other estates. Mum’s family, there’s no male heirs. It will go to-”

“To Charles,” she said, interrupting Ron. “Or to Percy next. Not you, Ron.”

He pointed at her in an accusatory manner, taking a few steps towards her. “I knew it. It was my lack of title that mattered to you.”

“Honestly, Ron, we would kill each other within a month. It was fun, when we spent our summers riding and fencing, when I helped you with your schoolwork, when you taught me to throw a punch or use a pistol, but we are no longer children!”

“We had fun, though!” Ron insisted again, and his voice was back to the whiney grating that made her want to scream.

“We were children! We are adults now. You… you want a family, and to hunt a fortune, and you should do such things!”

“And what do you want?” he demanded. “What could be so important that you would deny me happiness?”

She laughed again, but it came out choked as she took a step back from him, shaking her head.

“I want to further the education of young ladies,” she said after a moment. “I want to spend my days in museums and art galleries, and my nights up late reading. Tell me, honestly, have you even looked at a book since you left school?”

“Books?” Ron demanded, his voice sounding hysterical. “Is that all you care about? Your bloody books, Mione?”

“What is wrong with reading?” she asked, turning to look at him again, her hands going to her hips. “And don’t call me that!”

“I-” He had no response for that. Ron took a step back, the anger slowly fading as a smirk slid over his lips. “I simply find it amusing that a bastard cares so much about books.”

Hermione stared at him for so long, she actually felt her heart, which had been racing before, begin to slow down. A bastard… a bastard would care about… who was he…

And then, it struck her. He meant her. He was calling her a…

“Did you just… Ronald, what on earth could possess you to call me a-” She cut herself off, her voice cracking, and then she whispered the final words. “A bastard?” 

It felt far too close to a truth, but not really. Why on earth would… how would Ron…

“You’re older than Harry, aren’t you?” Ron asked, the smirk spreading as he took slow steps towards her. “I overheard you, once. You told him you were a real lady of sixteen, and we were only fifteen. Harry always said you looked older because you grew taller faster, but it’s not true. You’re a year older than him.”

Hermione took a step back, her jaw dropping. How long had Ron been keeping knowledge of this a secret?

“What of it?” she demanded, her hands going to her hips.

“Everyone knows that Lily Potter became with child almost immediately after the wedding,” Ron said with a grin. “And the child she had was an heir. They called it proof of James Potter’s love, that they conceived on their honeymoon. That makes you James’ bastard.”

James’  _ bastard _ ?!

“Ronald… you are so close to the truth, and yet, you have completely missed the mark, as per usual,” she snapped at him, taking a step closer. “I am his  _ ward _ , you complete idiot.”

“His ward?” Ron asked, his voice breaking with confusion. “But who-”

“Who was James Potter’s closest friend?” Hermione asked, her chin raising.

It was no secret, given the scandal that had surrounded the Black Family, both before and after what had happened with Sirius.

“But… Sirius Black died a year before James Potter married his wife,” Ron said. “I asked Harry about it, once… Potter and Black were always talked about at University. Harry told me about the scandal…”

“Yes,” Hermione said, lifting her chin. “My father was killed in a duel with his own father, over  _ honor _ , because he had not asked permission before marrying my mother.”

The Blacks denied it, of course. It had been a hunting accident. A complete and total accident. The Earl had finally returned to his family, after years of being estranged, and while hunting with his father, uncle, and younger brother, he had been shot and killed.

Another death that had not been investigated, because within Society, money talked.

“So, you’re not accepted by the Blacks,” Ron said with a bit of laughter. “Still practically a bastard, then. No dowry, no estate, no family-”

“I’m a Potter,” she hissed. 

“You’re one step away from being a bastard, and once everyone knows about it, you’ll be forced to marry me. No one else will even look at you.”

Hermione snorted, turning away to walk out, to leave, even as fear rippled through her. This was what she had feared… That the truth of her birth would get out.

Because if the truth was out, then the Duke of Norfolk, her Uncle Regulus Black, would have to act to protect the family… or, he would deny it all, deny the marriage of Lady Helen Granger to Earl Sirius Black, and Hermione would, indeed, be labeled a bastard.

“I would rather spend a thousand years alone than marry you,” she said, only a few steps away from leaving the garden.

And then, she felt a hand wrap around her forearm, tugging her backwards.

She stumbled into Ron, who then wrapped an arm around her body, tugging her to him. She tried to push herself away, but his hand went into her hair, and he moved closer, close enough that she could smell the liquor on his breath.

“You will marry me, Mione,” he insisted.

And with that, she was done.

“I told you not to call me that,” she hissed. “I told you not to call me that as children, and I have told you just now.”

“I’ll call you whatever I please, once you’re my wife,” he sneered.

Without thought, Hermione drew back her arm and curled her fingers. Ron laughed and it fueled her hatred even more, as she stepped forwards, and struck.

In fact, she struck him so hard, he took two steps backwards, and hit the ground.

“I will  _ never _ be your wife.”

* * *

It was far easier to avoid overly eager mamas when a celebration and dance was held in a garden. In fact, he had been walking for quite some time, enjoying some solitude. He had heard a few bits of whispering and giggles among the topiaries, but Draco had ignored all of it - he was no voyeur.

Furthermore, if the giggling was coming from a young Lady that was not yet wed... well, Draco wanted no part in any scandal, particularly if the young Lady might turn and say that it was in fact a Duke that had her in a dark alley, and not the gentleman she had truly been with.

Instead, the only company that Draco had was his flask, which was nearly empty. A pity, really, but he had been here long enough, having previously escorted Pansy to the event. He had even seen his aunt, the Marchioness of Waterford, who he rarely got to enjoy the presence of.

His father had basically forbidden her from ever seeing him, even if she was the one overseeing his school, given how his father wished to simply hide him away at a country estate, never again wanting to see his young heir. Now, with his death… He should like to see her more. Her presence was the only reason he had even agreed to coming with Pansy.

But, as the hour grew later, he knew that his Aunt would soon return home, and so would he. After all, Blaise was once again at the club… perhaps he would join him there, and enjoy a bit of...  _ fun _ … himself.

Yes. That was  _ exactly _ what he would do. He did not often visit actresses or singers, knowing that, well, they all had expectations of being well kept, and he refused to form any sort of attachment, even with a woman such as that. Still, it was healthy for him to let off a bit of steam.

Particularly while dealing with the extreme stress that was his father’s estate.

Turning a corner, he heard a bit of yelling, and then laughter. He paused, then took a few more steps forward, until he could look between the topiaries and see who it was that was arguing. 

_ “I would rather spend a thousand years alone than marry you.” _

Draco could not stop himself as he crossed his arms over his chest, his weight shifting to one side as he watched the argument. Weasley, who was a complete and utter fool, was arguing with Miss Potter. Had the fool proposed to her? What an idiot. Miss Potter was the sister of a Viscount, with a proper education, proper training. She was someone that could marry well. She was not for the likes of a sixth son of someone that could barely call themselves a peer, particularly with the lack of fortune.

Really, for Weasley to think he ever stood a chance… She was a lovely girl. Not for him, of course, but she had passion. Arguably… he could see what Potter meant, when he said she was not like other girls.

But then, Weasley did the unthinkable. He grabbed Miss Potter, stopping her from leaving, reaching to grope her inappropriately.

For a split second, Draco froze, ready to call out, to demand that Weasley stop, but no words came from his mouth, his throat feeling as though it were closed up. Of all the times for him to struggle to find words, to even be unable to shout the word  _ no _ !

Well, his fist would do just as well in stopping the scoundrel.

He charged forward between the topiaries, hearing Weasley’s declaration that he could do whatever he wanted, once they were married - except then, the sod was on the ground, clearly knocked off his own feet, and she was looking down at him, snapping a final retort.

“I will  _ never _ be your wife,” she hissed.

Draco drew up short as he looked at her, shaking her gloved hand, and then back down at Weasley, half knocked out on the ground. 

“My God, that was-”

“Your Grace,” she said, turning to look at him, shock clear on her face. “I was not, we were not…”

“You were not knocking him flat on his arse, where he belonged?” he asked, brow raised.

It was a good punch, a proper punch. He would like to see her in the ring, even if it was wholly inappropriate. It was a good and steady strike, and he could tell, given that she was not in agony, that she had properly held her grip. 

He wouldn’t even mind taking a few punches from her.

“I must say, I am very much impressed with you, Miss Potter,” he said, walking around Weasley, who was still more or less spread out in a rather pathetic manner. 

Draco looked up to see Miss Potter removing her glove, an action that was wholly inappropriate, save that she was looking at her hand. He approached, not touching, but he did glance down to see that the knuckles, while not split, were already slightly swollen.

“What are you even doing out here?” she asked, shaking her hand again before drawing the glove back onto her hand and up her arm. That would likely hurt even worse in the morning, although he was not going to tell her that.

“Going for a walk, avoiding all of the mothers,” he said with a sneer. “Although apparently, the most annoying creature here this evening was, in fact, a Weasley.”

“Oh, come off it, they are not so-”

She looked down at Ron on the ground. She sounded so ready to defend him, to defend his family, but… well, she seemed to rethink it, likely given how she was obviously not pleased with him.

“He is not like his siblings,” she said instead.

“Yes, well, that does not change the fact that he is a despicable creature,” Draco said, stepping back around to toe him away with his boot. 

“Should you not resume your walk and take your presence elsewhere?” she asked, her gaze going towards where he had come from.

“I was intending to leave the garden, and this ball all together,” he said with a shrug.

“Well, you cannot do that,” Miss Potter said, snapping at him. “For I must leave, and not be seen to be leaving with a man.”

“Marry me, Mione,” came a groan from Weasley on the ground.

“My God, she already told you  _ no _ , man. Have a little pride,” Draco said, sneering down at him on the ground.

“And I cannot stay here with him,” Miss Potter continued, seeming to not hear either of the men to speak. “To be caught with two men-”

“-I would hardly call Weasley a man,” Draco interrupted.

“I would be compromised just the same,” Miss Potter finished, turning to walk away from him. “I must go.”

“And leave me with this clod?” Draco demanded, taking a few steps after her. “I think I would be the one more compromised, being accused of attacking a drunk.”

Miss Potter scoffed at him, rolling his eyes. “Or, if I stay, perhaps it would be you and I that would be compromised together. After all, if I married you, I would be free of him.”

She had a devious look in her eyes, but it did not scream that she was interested in him in any way. No, she thought that by hinting at the idea of being forced to marry her, Draco would instead let her go first, so that he would not be caught in an entanglement.

Miss Potter became more and more interesting with every passing moment.

“Or, you could marry one of your other suitors,” Draco said with a wave of his hand.

“What other suitors?” she asked, her voice sounding half hysterical. “Have you not read the society papers? The only one interested in me is  _ him _ .”

Draco could not help it - he recoiled at the thought of only having a Weasley as a suitor… particularly this one. How… disgusting.

“Unlike you, I cannot simply declare that I shall not wed. Society expects it of me, to find a husband, to settle down, and if I do not, I shall spend my life, alone. So, do not pull such a face at me. If I hope to have any future as something other than Viscount Potter’s pathetic sister, then I must find a match.”

She was lamenting her prospects, then, which… well, Draco could not identify with it. His problem was the opposite. Far too many wanted to marry him.

“Yes, well, I find it quite surprising that you do not have a line of suitors trailing across the square,” Draco said, looking back towards Weasley.

It made no sense, after all. She was a lovely girl, from a good family, with a large dowry. There was no mama hovering over her shoulder, her brother was a good man, she came from a good home, and her mother had proven herself able to produce an heir, and a second child. Many homes would be clamoring to add her to their family.

Why was it, then, that no suitors were at her door? Why was it that Lady Whisltedown despised her so?

“You do not need to placate me with such fanciful words,” she said, her eyes rolling.

“I do not mock you,” he said honestly, taking a step towards her. “I am being sincere. You are a lovely young Lady, and were I looking for a wife, you would be at the top of the list. I am not, however, therefore-”

“Trust me, your Grace, I have no interest in marrying you. You are far too willful, too proud, too-”

“It does not matter, for you and I are trapped all the same,” Draco said, cutting her off. He did not want to hear any further what she thought of him. He already knew it to be terrible enough.

“Trapped?” Miss Potter asked, her voice cracking slightly on the word.

“By the words of this… this  _ Lady Whistledown _ . She writes that you have some secret which marks you unworthy of another’s affection, whilst challenging every mother within the Ton to win me as their veritable hunting prize.”

“Yes, well…” Miss Potter swallowed down something that was on the tip of her tongue, and then took a deep breath. “I shall figure something out. I am resourceful, after all, and quite intelligent. I shall simply have to dissuade Ronald, Mr Weasley, from speaking about this evening, and then find myself a suitable husband.”

Draco watched her walk towards the entrance, when a thought suddenly struck him. She was in need of a suitor, one which would draw others in, whilst pushing Weasley away. The animosity between his family and Weasley’s was well known - in fact, once Weasley saw Miss Potter on his arm… that would well and truly end it.

And once Weasley was out of the way, surely a line of suitors would come calling at Miss Potter’s door.

And whilst he was busy with Miss Potter… why, if he was courting a young Lady, none would bother him. His Aunt would be pleased, as she had given her own approval of the girl, and Pansy had clearly had a hand in setting up the dinner with the Viscountess.

Yes… just long enough for him to conclude his business… and then he would be far away.

This could, in fact, be considered a good deed. A penance, perhaps, for considering poisoning his father… for holding his tongue and not pointing out that Pansy had likely killed her husband… This was resetting the scale. He was helping a young Lady in distress.

“I have an idea,” he called out.

Miss Potter stopped and turned to look at him, brow raised.

“An idea?” she asked, clearly not sounding as though she trusted or believed him.

“An idea,” he confirmed, stepping over Weasley, and towards Miss Potter. “An idea which could solve our collective issue with Lady Whistledown, with the expectations of the Ton, and with getting us both what we want.

She looked up at him, brow raised, and a smile slid over her lips.

* * *

The explosions began in the sky, the grand highlight for the evening, and as everyone turned their attention to it, Hermione approached the crowd, her hand held tightly within the Duke’s. It was most certainly not a normal place for her hand to be - indeed, if he were escorting her somewhere, it would be far more appropriate for her hand to be looped through his forearm.

Like this, for the two of them to be holding hands, even with them both wearing gloves… it was far too intimate. It was something that lovers would do. Something that… Something that two people with an interest in one another would do.

She looked up at the Duke, unable to help herself, to see that he looked far too relaxed, his eyes straight ahead as he walked. Seeming to know her thoughts, he then looked down at her, and a smile curled over his lips, although it did not meet his eyes. 

She smiled back, and then looked forward once more, towards the dance floor and the explosions.

Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione could see those that she knew. The Patil twins were watching, with Miss Brown a step away. Ginny and Harry stood side by side, chatting with one another, although Ginny had seemed to stop as her gaze reached them.

She could not truly see Harry’s face, but he looked…  _ not pleased _ .

There were others that they passed, a few of the older Matrons of the ton, the Countess of March, for instance, and the Dowager Duchess of Montrose, who was then yanking at her grandson.

Her eye caught Lady Parkinson’s just as they reached the dance floor, and the woman lifted her chin, which had Hermione do the same. It felt like a look of respect, from one woman to another. Given how close in friendship the Lady was to the Duke, Hermione had to take it to be a good sign.

She felt eyes on her, and Hermione turned her head to see what it was - a group of young Gentlemen, who had all turned away from the Ladies they were speaking to. They were now looking at her, all of them having stopped in their words.

And then, the Duke was looking down at her, forcing Hermione’s attentions back up towards him. She was unable to look away from him, and then, together, they took the steps up to join the other dancers.

“Everyone is looking,” she whispered. The Duke stopped and lead her with his hand, moving her to stand in front of him. She took her place a few steps away, but he shook his head, forcing Hermione to take a step closer, to the point that her dress skirt was nearly touching his boots.

“Good,” he murmured. “That is what we wanted.”

She looked off towards the side, towards Harry and Ginny, when she heard his voice calling her back.

“Eyes on me,” he commanded.

She did as told, and then lowered herself into a curtsy as he bowed, bowed far lower than a Duke should ever do for a  _ Miss _ . 

Rising up, she saw that the Duke took a step closer towards her, so that there was barely any space between them at all.

“If this is to work, if you and I are to be believed, then they must see only one thing…” he whispered, his hand reaching out to just barely touch her side. It was not part of the dance, not yet, but his hand touching her, as though it was unable to stay away…

“And what is that?” she breathed out, unable to think of anything further.

“They must think that we are madly and desperately in love with one another.”

He took a step forward, and she a step back, moving together as one as she turned slightly with her next step in, and then back once more. She then twirled under his arm, and then, once before him, his hand moved from his side, where it had hung rather than being behind his back, and went to her own back. 

They stepped together, one step at a time, her step between his own, his step between hers, and then he was lowering her slightly, her Gray eyes locked with his, caught in a moment, as she thought back to the garden…

_ “We could pretend… to form an attachment,” he said slowly, as though he was only just forming the idea within his mind. _

_ Hermione felt her breath catch within her throat… It could be dangerous. They could tell no one. Not even Harry. If anyone knew… it would be far worse than the secret she already held, which was now known by far too many.  _

_ “Pretend?” she asked, stepping towards him. “But then…” _

_ She blinked, letting the idea roll around in her own head. To be desired by a Duke… why, Lady Whistledown could no longer write that Hermione was a disappointment, if she had gained the attention of a Duke. And the Duke… if he were to be courting someone, other Ladies would take a step back, to watch and wait, and see what happened. _

_ “Then, the world will think that I have found my Duchess, and I would no longer be the catch that everyone wants. Their attentions will turn to my friends, to the Marquees of Salisbury, to the Duke of Nottingham if he should return, to-” _

_ “To the Duke of Montrose,” she offered, thinking of Neville Longbottom. _

_ The Duke before her rolled his eyes, but he did not disagree with her. _

_ “Yes, yes, but the important thing is, while every mother is looking for a new suitor for their daughter, every suitor will be looking-” _

_ “At another woman that is eligible,” Hermione said, cutting him off. No, it would not work. Men would not want a woman already claimed. _

_ “Oh no,” the Duke said, approaching her slowly. “All men want that which they cannot have. If they think you are no longer available, that you have turned me so quickly towards the idea of marriage…” _

_ It was more than she could imagine, that every eye in the Ton would be upon them, that Lady Whistledown… _

_ “You presume that Lady Whistledown will once again declare me the most eligible woman in the Ton, and you, besotted.” _

_ The Duke smiled at her, something real and true, and for a brief moment, Hermione forgot herself as she looked up at his gray eyes, now towering over her. _

_ “She will declare us to be precisely what we are - me, unavailable, and you, desirable.” _

_ Hermione shook her head, taking a step back from him. This was… this was not what she had planned for her season. To start such a ruse, to have such an arrangement… _

_ “This plan is absurd,” she said, not even looking back towards the Duke. _

_ “I find it to be quite brilliant,” he said, his grin making him look almost boyish. “And to top it all off, Weasley absolutely loathes me.” _

_ “So this is all to pull one over on Ron?” she demanded, her eyebrows thinning as she glared at him. _

_ “The plan is brilliant,” he said, speaking over her. “Provided you do not wish to marry me, as I certainly do not wish to marry you. After all, what do you have to lose?” _

_ She looked up at him, her eyes going wide, and then she looked at Ronald, still laying on the ground. He would never give up, would continue to pursue her, even ruin her, all in hopes that she would return to him. _

_ With another suitor, followed by another long line of them… This was her answer. This was the plan. She could then have her pick of them until she found one that suited all of her needs. Once she had found her future husband, she and the Duke could part ways, and she would be free to have the future she desired. _

_ It was still an absurd plan, but- _

_ “If we do this… we can make our own future, without the influence of our friends and family. You and I… we can have whatever we want,” he said, stepping so close to her, Hermione could smell his cologne. _

_ She was lost in it as she looked up at him. _

_ “If we do this… you do not abandon me until I have found a husband,” she whispered, her voice soft in the air. _

_ “I would not abandon you,” he said, his voice dragging her in. _

_ Something about him screamed at her that this was dangerous, that she was making a mistake… _

_ But then, Ronald groaned again, and Hermione knew she had no other choice. _

_ “Then… consider me interested,” she said, her voice shaking with each word. _

_ The Duke offered her his hand, and she took it… _

… The hold his hand had on hers loosened as he spun her twice, and then he was drawing back to her. She could feel his legs brushing against hers as they clung to one another, and if Hermione had not known the truth… she would think that he was a man intent on taking her for a prize. 

The way he looked at her, she felt the center of his whole universe.

He dipped her again, and she did not look away, did not even misstep as they shifted from side to side, switching hands, turning back and forth, until she was once again within his arms. Even as other dancers kept space for the sake of propriety, the Duke did not let her go, as though he could not be separated from her.

She wanted to look. She wanted to look more than anything. She wanted to look out and see the Ton. She wanted to look out and see the Weasleys. She wanted to look and see the Marchioness of Waterford, who was in fact her first cousin, once removed. She wanted to see if the Duke of Norfolk was here, whom she had never been introduced to, despite him being her uncle.

She wanted to see if the Dowager Duchess of Norfolk, who had thrown out her father so many years ago, was in attendance. 

_ Look at me _ , she thought, smiling as the Duke turned her again, then immediately returned her to his arms.  _ Look at me, the granddaughter you denied. Look at me, the girl you disregarded. Look at me, the one that was forgotten _ .

She thought of James and Lily, who had raised her as their own, knowing that, as the Blacks did not recognize her, she would always struggle with the doubt of the Ton. She thought of her father, a Rake that had impregnated and then married a woman far beneath his station, a simple daughter of a Baron. 

She thought about her mother, who had died of a broken heart, knowing that her daughter would not be recognized, particularly since Hermione’s father had been killed by his own father in what they called a hunting accident, but was in fact a duel.

The Duke’s hand slid up her backside, something that felt wholly inappropriate, and she felt her cheeks color. He grinned down at her, and it reached his eyes, nearly, perhaps. He was amused with her reaction, then.

She could do this. She could change her future, starting with this. She could change the future of every young girl within the Ton, the girls that felt trapped and destroyed, all because of the whims of a man. She could get them an education, a career, a free life…

It all started with this, the first step in her plan. Yes, she had had to add to the first step, but it was back on track.

All she had to do was not grow attached to the Rake that now held her in his arms, pretending that he was completely maddeningly in love with her. She smiled up at him, knowing that, with only that in her way, she could do it. It would be simple enough.

After all, she would not make the same mistakes as her mother.

* * *

_ If you were not in attendance at the Abbott Ball last evening, I have the most exciting news to share with you all. Miss Hermione Potter, who I once thought had become the greatest failure of the season, has in fact proven me wrong. For you see, dear reader, she has captured the interest of the Duke of Wiltshire, a man that, up until the very first dance the two shared, and yes, there was more than one, had been claiming he would not marry. _

_ How Miss Potter caught his attention, I have no idea, but Miss Potter was seen earlier this week in the company of her sister-in-law, the Viscountess Potter, and the Duke’s hostess, Lady Parkinson. Perhaps an introduction was made among them? _

_ Still, I tell you, they seemed to come from nowhere, for one moment, we were watching the most grand explosions within the sky, and the next, the explosions were upon the dance floor. Indeed, his eyes never left hers, and the young Miss appeared delighted in his attention. _

_ Whatever the circumstances, dear readers, I shall tell you all as I discover it. _

_ Yours Truly, _ _   
_ **_Lady Whistledown_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here ends Episode 1 : A Breath of Fresh Air. Episode 2 begins next Tuesday, March 16th. Prepare for 5 Chapters to encompass that episode. I'll also be posting a Trailer for Episode 2 tomorrow on all of my social media.
> 
> Have you seen my quote posts? I try to post them most everywhere. Consider those to be your promos for the upcoming week - I'm going to start posting them before the new episode goes live moving forward.
> 
> [My Social Media Links](https://linktr.ee/melanoradrood)
> 
> See you all next week! And please, leave a comment below if you had guessed what was going to happen! I'm so excited to see what everyone thinks about the changes I made to the show this is based on! I'm trying to reply to all comments, so if I haven't replied to yours yet, I will soon!
> 
> xoxo mel


	6. Chapter 5 : At The Beginning (Ep 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _ June 1790, London, Wiltshire House _

Two rooms, side by side. Two very different rooms.

One was dark, the curtains drawn, only a few candles for light at one end of the room, near where the door was open. The other looked into a dark room, but it was filled with light, and men, all awaiting the news of what the dark room held.

The news, given the sounds of the screams, was not good.

Lady Andromeda Tonks Black, newly instated Marchioness of Waterford, was pacing back and forth, her arms crossed under her breasts. She kept looking towards the dark room, towards the woman that lay in the bed, screaming. There was a doctor between the woman’s legs, a nurse on either side, and with each urge to push, another scream came out.

Birthing a child was brutal and bloody work, but it should not be like this. Particularly for a woman that had pushed out a number of children before.

Still, none of those children had lived, and if screaming helped to grant the Duke of Wiltshire his long awaited heir, well…

Lucius Malfoy had complained, in the past, about how weak his wife was, complaining during childbirth and labor. Now, he was silent, instead standing at the doorway, glaring, awaiting the news.

It was taking too long. Andromeda had only birthed one child, and she already knew it was taking too long. 

“Meda!” came a scream from within the room, and once more, Andromeda moved closer, wanting to go in. She was stopped once more by the Duke, who glared at her.

“You have no experience in birthing sons,  _ my Lady _ ,” he said, spitting out her form of address. “You are only allowed here because the Queen has granted your useless Irish husband a title, thereby elevating you to polite society… as though you have not brought a  _ jackeen  _ into our midst. I have allowed you into my home as a kindness to my wife, provided she give me my heir.”

Andromeda bit her tongue, saying nothing, and took in a deep breath, her eyes seeking out her sisters.

Narcissa’s eyes locked with hers, her lips shaking and tears running down her cheeks.

And then, she screamed again.

She screamed for so long, that Lucius eventually fell into a chair, growing impatient. She screamed for so long, that they had to get more clean clothes.

She screamed for so long, that Andromeda had become convinced there was no way the child would be born alive.

And then, there was the faint sound of a child’s screams in the air, a beautiful sound, given the number of children that Narcissa had given Lucius that never drew breath.

“What is it?” Lucius demanded, stumbling out of his chair and to the door. “What is it!”

Andromeda was a step behind him, her eyes locked on her sister.

“A boy, your Grace. You have a son.”

Narcissa let out a sob of relief, and Andromeda pushed past Lucius, going straight to her sister’s side. The work was done, the babe was born, and now, she could hug her sister for the first time in nearly a decade and a half. She sobbed out, crying as she grasped her sister’s hand, pressing kisses to it.

“A son,” came the voice of the Duke of Wiltshire from near the door to the dark room. “At long last, I have a son.”

The babe was still making noise, enough that Andromeda knew that the crying had not been false, but she did not look towards her sister’s husband, nor to the babe. All she saw was her baby sister, who was wearing a beautiful smile.

She had never looked so lovely, not even on her wedding day. Andromeda had not been permitted to attend, of course. She had been sent into disgrace when she eloped with an Irishman rather than marry Lucius Malfoy. It had been mere happenstance that she had been in London at the time of the wedding, and had watched her sister leave the church, on the way to the reception.

Narcissa looked happy. After fifteen years, she finally looked at peace.

“I thought I would never be allowed to see you again,” Narcissa whispered, tears running down her cheeks. “I thought-”

“You hush. I told you, in those letters, that the Queen had not forgotten me. I may not be accepted as a Black, but you and I, we shall not be separated again.”

Narcissa nodded, taking in a few breaths, and then she turned her head, searching for something. Andromeda reached out and grabbed her hand, holding onto it.

“I have given him a son,” Narcissa gasped out, tears running down her cheeks. She tightly gripped Andromeda’s hand, and Andromeda squeezed back, not letting go.

“You have a beautiful child,” Andromeda promised, looking over towards the babe. 

The Duke had already stepped into the light, celebrating the birth of his heir, leaving behind his wife, who had done all of the work. Well, it was no matter. Narcissa could celebrate once she was all cleaned up.

Finally, her sister could have peace.

The hand holding hers loosened slightly, and Andromeda looked down, to see that her sister’s head had fallen to the side, eyes closing. 

“Narcissa?”

The name came from Andromeda’s lips in a gasp, and then she turned towards the doctor. There was blood, so much blood, and the Doctor looked up at her, shaking his head.

The sound of the clinking of glasses and cheers came from the room filled with light, and suddenly, the air in the birthing room became thick and heavy, the darkness weighing down on all of them.

“Narcissa, look at me,” Andromeda whispered, brushing her sister’s hair back from her face. “Don’t fall asleep. You have to see your son.”

She looked back towards the Duke, hoping that he would see, would realize what was happening, but he was too busy celebrating.

“Narcissa!” she screamed out, shaking her sister’s shoulders.

The cheers grew louder, a celebration, while her sister lay dying.

Narcissa’s eyes were fully closed, and the grip on her hand slacked. Andromeda looked to see that the Doctor was no longer working, instead covering up the blood with a sheet.

“A perfect son. I have a perfect son. Draco Lucius Abraxas Septimus Malfoy, the next Duke of Wiltshire.”

Andromeda’s eyes lifted up towards her sister’s husband, raising a glass, half-hazardously holding his son in the other arm. He had done this. He had pushed his wife too far. He had demanded too much. It was well known that Malfoys struggled to have more than one child. They called it only allowing perfection.

Andromeda knew whose fault it was that her sister had to give her life to have a child.

“Curse you, Lucius Malfoy,” she hissed under her breath. “I will dance on your grave…”

* * *

He had heard the story of his birth many times. First, it was the housekeeper, Mrs Mimsy, whispering it to his first Nanny. Then, it had been the Nanny, whispering it to his first Governess. And from there, it had been his Aunt Andromeda, cursing his father’s name, when she thought Draco was already in bed.

He had asked her about it, only once, and she had stared at him with empty eyes as she recounted it all to him. 

Andromeda told him about how desperately his mother wanted him. How desperately she had struggled for years, to produce an heir. How she had weeped for his elder siblings that had never drawn breath. How she had blamed herself for years.

She told him about how it should have been  _ her _ that married his father, and if she had not run away for love… perhaps, then, his mother would have married for it. It would have been his Aunt that suffered loss after loss. She had weeped heavy tears, then, blaming herself for being so selfish, as to condemn her baby sister to such a fate.

Draco had been 20, a young man, freshly returned from University. He had not been intending to spend his summer in the city, but when other plans had fallen through, he had visited his Aunt, before he left for a tour through Europe.

He regretted asking her about it, as she sat there and wept, telling him how dark and cold the room had been.

_ Your father did not even realize she was dead until the Doctor called his attention to it. He barely even said a word, just said she had done her duty, so what else did the Doctor even need? _

Draco had sat there stone faced, hearing the cruel words. He had always known his father to be a monster, but to know the explicit details…

His mother had died in darkness, covered in her own sweat and blood, and she had never even been able to hold him, the son that she had died for. Draco knew it was not his fault, but still… for his mother to have died giving birth to such a pathetic excuse for a son…

He had not stayed the full night in the Waterford London House, and had been on the first boat to the continent in the morning. The next time he set foot on English soil, his father was dead, and…

The first thing he had demanded, upon arriving at Wiltshire House, was that light be brought into the Duchess’s rooms. Nothing else was to be touched, of course.

He had never seen the room before, given that he was banished from his father’s sight and had only ever seen his father’s office the few times he had visited in his earlier years, so to see the place where she had died…

Everything was still draped with covering cloths, as they likely had been for over twenty years. His father had never taken a second wife, not needing one since he had an heir. Draco wanted to walk around the room, soak it in, to see what it was his mother had enjoyed about this space, the light from the city, the view out to the park…

But, he could not bring himself to enter. The last time he had been within the room, his mother had been dying. He did not want to return to such a place that was now so bright and airy, not wanting to damage it.

“Your Grace?” asked one of the maids, likely on her way to continue chores. “Would you like us to prepare the Duchess’s rooms for you?”

It would be expected, of course, before he wed, that the rooms be prepared… but, he would not wed. These would forever remain his mother’s rooms, until such point in time as he was dead, the Malfoy line was ended, and the house was sold to another.

“No,” he said, taking one last look at the room before turning around and walking instead towards the Duke’s rooms, directly across the hall. “That will not be necessary.”

He entered into his father’s room, now his room, and slammed the door behind him.

His father had died in this room. In the very bed that now occupied this room. Of course, it was a different mattress, different sheets, but the frame was the same, the dresser, the wardrobe, likely even the chamber pot. It reeked of his father, of a crotchety old man that was obsessed with his hair, his wealth, and his holdings. 

He should have stayed with Pansy.

“Burn everything in this room,” he said, going to the door and opening it. “Everything. I want every piece of furniture to be new. Do not sell it, do not give it away. Burn it. No one should be forced to suffer with anything that once belonged to my father.”

Fuck, he needed a drink. And a fuck. And anything else that could make him forget his father.

* * *

**_Dearest Readers,_ ** _ there is only one phrase that I can accurately use to describe last evening’s events -  _ **_ENCHANTING REVELATION._ ** _ For indeed, I have an enchanting revelation that I must share with you all, but first! _

_ First, we must touch upon something of great importance. That is, the existence of a Rake. _

_ For indeed, a Rake is something we, within polite society, must endure. _

_ A rake is a plague upon mothers everywhere, and I do not mean mothers of young ladies. Oh no, I mean the mothers that must suffer sons that become Rakes. _

_ Not all young gentlemen become Rakes, of course. Some are raised to be respectable, to care for their families and their good name. They do not waste coin, do not fill their bellies with alcohol, and they do not spend a great amount of time with women of ill repute. _

_ But some… some waste away their days with foolish delights that have no profit. They are a strain upon their families, with no real prospects. They might be charming, yes, but with no intention to settle down and marry, all they do is place stress upon their poor mamas. _

_ Ah, and yet! And yet, it is said, dear readers, that the greatest of husbands are made from a reformed rake. And, it looks as though, we may soon find out the truth of that, for I must tell you, one young lady among us has surely begun to reform her rake. _

_ If you were not in attendance at the ball last evening, I have the most exciting news to share with you all… _

* * *

“Do you think it’s true?” Ginny asked, sitting on the chaise in Hermione’s room while Hermione and the maid finished pinning up the last of Hermione’s curls.

“What is true?” Hermione asked, lifting her chin this way and that, making certain that not a hair was out of place.

“That reformed rakes make the best husbands.”

Hermione turned and looked at her friend, mouth dropped and eyebrow raised, and shrieked. Oh God, Ginny was married to her _ brother _ . She did not want to think what occurred that would make a reformed Rake a good husband.

“Ginny! First of all, I do not want to know what Rakes know or do not know, for surely, it cannot be that exciting. And second of all, I do not want to know how that can transfer to being an acceptable husband, let alone the best,” she finished, picking up her gloves before rising from her seat. “And finally, Harry was hardly a Rake.

“He went to the clubs,” Ginny insisted. “And, we’ve talked about it. I know that he  _ did _ , a few times.”

“Did what?” Hermione asked, tugging her gloves on before fumbling with the buttons.

“He…  _ did things _ ,” Ginny said, her voice going quieter. “Visited women. Actresses, I think.”

Hermione’s head shot up, and she looked at her sister-in-law, jaw dropping. She knew that the weekends away, the weekends that he would no longer speak about… was that what he had been doing? Visiting…  _ actresses _ ?

“What Harry did before marriage is of no concern to me, nor what he does during it, so long as you are both happy, and he treats you well,” Hermione said quickly, struggling still with the button.

Ginny had to cross the room and help her with it, the tiny pearls with the loops difficult to manage.

“The Duke went with him, you know,” Ginny said softly, looking up at Hermione with big eyes.

“The Duke was likely the one that took him there to begin with,” Hermione said primly, shaking out her hand a little, now that it was gloved. The knuckles on one hand still hurt slightly, likely from punching Ron in the face.

She had not told Ginny about that. Had not mentioned a single word of even seeing her brother.

“Does that not bother you?” Ginny asked, raising a brow. “Or, do you believe what Lady Whistledown says, that reformed rakes make the best of husbands?”

Hermione rolled her eyes and let out a sigh, no longer interested in this conversation, nor whatever Lady Whistledown had to say about her, about the Duke of Wiltshire, or about reformed rakes.

“Ginny, I honestly do not care what the Duke has or has not done. It is his own personal business, and I have no interest in it.”

Ginny raised her brows as she took a step back, pulling on her own gloves. Hermione stepped forward, helping her with the buttons, and then, Ginny had a smirk on her lips.

“You’ll certainly care about what the Duke has done on your Wedding Night.”

Hermione scoffed, glad that they were both now dressed, and could finally leave. She and the Duke had agreed upon a time at midmorning, in between their second and third dance, and she did not want to be late.

“I highly doubt that anything the Duke learned while drinking, gambling, and entertaining actresses could benefit me in any way, shape, or form,” she said primly, lifting her chin.

Her wedding night, whenever that occurred… honestly. All she had to do was close her eyes and pray it to be over soon, for once it was, she would not have to do it again. Since there would be no children, there would be no need to repeat the process. And besides, it was not as though the Duke would be there.

Perhaps Ginny and Harry were not doing it right, if they were still not expecting.

“I think you would be surprised,” Ginny said with a smirk. “Actresses are said to know everything.”

* * *

Across town, Draco Malfoy rose from the bed he had only just fallen into a few minutes before. He was pulling on his pants and throwing a rag down onto the ground, glad to have finally found some relief. 

The brandy that was now in his gut helped as well.

“Where are you off to, your Grace?” came the voice of the opera singer he had only just finished fucking.

He said nothing for a moment, pulling on his shirt, regretting not bringing a change of clothes. He smelled like the Gentleman’s Club, and it was not even yet noon. 

“To promenade,” he said as he bent down to pick up his boots.

This was the problem with women, particularly young Ladies. They had…  _ expectations _ .  _ Requirements _ . It was one thing to dance with a girl at a ball, but to dance with her a second time?

And then he, unable to resist himself, had danced with her for a third. Part of it had been not wanting to be approached by her brother, who had been glaring at him the whole time. The rest, well… he was rather enjoying himself. It had been some time since he had danced, and she had been an agreeable partner.

Except, to dance with the same woman not once, not twice, but three total times… It meant something. It meant something, and he knew it, and she knew it, and the whole bloody Ton knew it.

He should likely read Lady Whistledown’s paper, but what was the point, when it was all lies?

He was coming straight back to this bed when he was done with his walk. And, he was going to drink himself stupid. After all, his situation could not get much worse than it already was.

* * *

“Oh, look at her,” the Viscountess said, nearly bouncing in her seat as she looked at the couple. “I did not think she would ever truly look at a man, and now, she is talking to a  _ Duke _ !”

Pansy snorted softly, nodding her head, looking at Draco as he first approached Miss Potter. “And a bit of laughter from him. He very rarely laughs, and that is not one of him mocking her - she has said something amusing.”

“Not something that happens often…” the other woman murmured, causing Pansy to look at her with a raised brow. “I simply mean, Hermione is very intelligent. It is not often that others understand her jokes.”

Pansy gave a nod, looking back towards the couple as he offered his arm to the young Miss, and she reached out to take it. They both looked far too stiff, but with time, they would become more familiar with one another.

“That is good for him. He is well read, well educated. He was often found with a book in his hands in our youth.”

“Hermione as well!” the Viscountess exclaimed, once more nearly bouncing on the bench. “Always a book in her hand, and another stack on her desk. Why, there’s likely ten on her bedside table right now!”

Pansy snorted to herself, watching the couple as they began walking, slowly, clearly chatting between themselves. This had been far too easy, to get Draco out of his shell, and onto the arm of a young debutante. Of course. Miss Potter was unlike any other young lady that Pansy had met, whether it be this season or the last, but this…

This was good for him. A little something to shake him up. Of course, it should not have been so easy. She had expected it to take at least four balls of trying to set the two near one another, including Pansy insisting they dance, and another dinner party… 

What had happened, at the ball the night before, that the two were already so close to one another?

“I hope she is ready for the responsibility that comes with being a Duchess,” Pansy said idly, glancing out the corner of her eye towards her new friend.

She was given a slight nod, although the Vicountess’s face looked a bit pensive. “She… I think she would do well, if she were the one to  _ be _ society, to lead it, rather than simply having to be part of it. As a Duchess… she would have far more control, if the Duke allowed it.”

“Control?” Pansy asked, looking towards the other woman with a raised brow. “What sort of control would she want?”

The other woman said nothing, then shook her head. “Nothing. Forget I said anything. Hermione… she is just stubborn. She knows what she wants.”

Pansy was quiet as she nodded her head, the couple turning a corner and going just out of their sight. She rose from her seat, the woman beside her doing the same, so that they might slowly follow at a far distance.

“Good,” she said finally. “For the Duke rarely knows what he wants, only what he does not want. I think this would be good for him. I think she would be good for him.”

She was given a smile by the other woman, who looped arms with her, as though they were old friends, and not two women scheming together. “You know, I quite agree.”

* * *

“Your Grace,” Hermione said politely, bowing her head slightly.

He was late, for some odd reason, even though he had been the one to set the time. She, along with Ginny and Lady Parkinson, had been waiting for over ten minutes. Lady Parkinson had immediately gone to Ginny’s side, sitting with her on a bench to chat, and while Ginny was pleased to see that the Duke of Wiltshire’s friend was here to support him for the start of their period of courting…

It was not real. There was no need for a chaperone on his behalf, when they were most assuredly not courting!

And besides, Lady Parkinson was their age, if not a bit younger than Hermione herself. They were essentially being watched by two children. The insult, honestly…

“Miss Potter,” the Duke said, bowing his head. “You are looking well rested.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, looking down the promenade towards other couples, who were also only just beginning to arrive. She understood  _ why _ people did this, so that might be seen, and see others, but behaving like a dog on a leash so that others might see how well trained she was? Yet another insult.

“Yes, well, knowing that my future was secure helped me to fall asleep easily last night,” she said with a smirk, looking up at him.

He laughed immediately, and Hermione did not know what to make of it, but the skin around his eyes crinkled slightly, a likely sign that he was truly amused.

“Yes, well, I was up most of the night, thanking God that you do not have a mother already demanding to know when I shall propose.”

Hermione stiffened slightly, her stomach flipping… Lily… Her own mother… Two mothers lost… 

Almost immediately, the Duke stepped forward, his hand going to her forearm, not touching, but hovering. “My apologies, I did not mean-”

“It is alright,” she said with a wave of her hand. “You have only just recently lost your father, so I am quite certain-”

“The loss of my father is not the same as you losing both your parents. I know that it deeply affected your brother, so I can only imagine you still greatly feel the loss. Again, I apologize for bringing it up. I only meant…”

His voice trailed off, and he swallowed hard. She could see he was trying to find the right words, and she instead placed her hand on his arm, thumb only just touching his coat, and nothing more. 

“I understood what you meant,” she said soothingly, almost as though speaking to one of her old students. “Trust me, I fear them as well. While most may fear the writings of Lady Whistledown, it is the Ton’s mamas that I fear most. They all seem to have ideas as to who is a proper wife for their son, asserting their power over them as they desire. Should one deem me not appropriate-”

“Who would ever find you not appropriate?” the Duke asked as he turned and offered her his arm. “After all, I have heard that you are well taught, a scholar, have experience with young children, play the pianoforte, and come from a well-respected family. You would be an asset to any Lord in search of a wife.”

Hermione said nothing as she took his arm, smiling a little to herself, feeling her cheeks blush. She could not help it as she looked up at him, wondering what else he saw in her. Were those just colorful words that he had been supplied by Lady Parkinson, or did he truly believe that she would be an asset?

Of course, she did not intend on being a proper Lady, nor a proper wife, but still… that sort of compliment…

They were silent for a moment, and Hermione saw a couple approaching, both of their eyes locked on the two of them. Hermione looked up again at the Duke, who’s eyes were locked forward, as though he saw no one else ahead of them. Oh, to have such confidence, Hermione did not understand it, but she envied it. All she felt right now was annoyance at being dressed like a doll and put on display. Was that what this was, then? The Duke displaying her, so that he might show off that he was no longer available?

“How long do you plan to stay in London?” Hermione asked, turning her attention back to the walk in front of her.

“A few weeks, perhaps. Once my business has concluded, I will be returning to the countryside, and then to the continent.”

“You do not intend to stay in the country?” Hermione asked, raising her brow and pausing in her steps. “What about your tenants? Your estates? Surely, someone must do the overseeing of your investments.”

The Duke rolled his eyes, scoffing at her, but his cheeks did color slightly, as though embarrassed. He was quiet, then finally said, his voice very soft. “I have a Steward. I think. I do not know. My father did not… train me on such things.”

How… odd. Hermione had noted earlier that the Duke had not expressed any sadness about the death of his father, who had only just died recently, in relation to Hermione’s own pain over losing her parents two years earlier, but… to have no training? Harry had spent weeks of the year with their father, learning the estates and the books and the tenants, and Hermione the same, just in case she had to manage it while Harry was unavailable, particularly if he was at school when they passed. She had been the one to initially handle the books…

A Steward? How could a steward do any better than the man himself?

“I guess that is your right,” she said after a moment, her lips pressing together.

A few weeks…

“You do not mean to leave me so soon!” she said suddenly, looking up at him again. She paused in her steps, shocked, and he looked down at her with a raised brow, but did not release her arm, which was still looped through his.

“Miss Potter, you will find a suitor within a few short weeks, I am certain, and by the time I am away, you will already have a wedding planned.” He sounded so sure of his words, but Hermione could not imagine being so far ahead on her plans in that time.

“But, I must first meet a man, and then get to know him, his family, find out his plans… there’s a list, you see, a list of qualities as to what would be acceptable in a husband, and it may take time for me to find someone acceptable. In particular, the right one must be interested in me.”

She could practically feel his amusement as they once more resumed their walking, and she looked up just as he looked down, a small smile on his lips. “A list? You made a list as to what you would find acceptable in a husband?”

Hermione forced her eyes forward, feeling far too judged, and lifted her chin slightly. “Of course I did. It felt… practical. To think on things that are a necessity, and those which are negotiable, and the things that I might be able to tolerate…”

The Duke laughed, out loud, and she tightened her hand on his arm but did not look at him. She did not want to look and see if he was amused at her words, or at her. 

“My God, you would make a good lawyer, or a businessman. You certainly know what is important. No then, Miss Potter, I will not abandon you so soon. If you are determined to make the perfect match based upon your list, then I shall see it through… I would like to meet the man that fits your grand requirements.”

He was teasing her, surely, and she sniffed slightly, raising her chin, looking around. She refused to look at him again… she had yet to properly look at him, beyond the smallest of features, but after her conversation with Ginny… she wondered what it was about him that made him  _ appear _ to be a Rake, something which was obvious to Lady Whistledown, but Hermione did not see.

Instead, yes, her eyes caught on other couples, on the walkway, on the trees, on the flowers…  _ Flowers _ .

“You should send flowers,” she said, looking up at him suddenly. 

“Flowers?” he asked with a raise of his brow.

“Is that not an acceptable gift?” she asked, not quite certain as to what others would receive. After all, she had not yet had a caller, nor a suitor, but flowers seemed acceptable. “I should think, if a Duke was courting a young Lady, he would send a gift, such as flowers.”

The Duke was quiet as they continued, and she felt him nod a little before speaking. “Yes, flowers. Expensive ones, given my status… but what sort of gift would  _ you _ rather receive?”

His words were softer, not so…  _ bold _ . Not even confident. She felt as though she were speaking to a man, and not a Duke, and in a rare moment… Hermione decided to just be honest. Her hand tightened slightly on his arm, and then she spoke. “A book.”

She could feel that he paused in his steps, just for a breath, and she paused with him, but then he continued their movement, as they neared the bridge. When he finally spoke, there was no judgement, just a clear question, one asked in earnest. “What… What debutante would ask for a book?”

She looked up at him to see that he was looking down at her, his face curious, questioning. He looked softer, and she looked up at him, staring into his eyes. They were a silvery gray, beautiful, but she had seen eyes that looked like that before. She forced herself to look away, swallowing hard, and looked ahead before she spoke.

“I think a book could tell you a lot about a person. If a suitor were courting me… I would ask that he bring me a book. Either… one that is important to him, or one that he thinks would be important to me.”

He said nothing at all, and she wanted to ask him, if he were truly courting her, what sort of book he would bring her… but she did not. She did not know if he would answer. She did not know if she even wanted to know, to begin with.

They were not courting. She did not want a Duke for a husband. Particularly one that… left all of his estate… to his steward.

_ No _ . He was not for her. He had made that abundantly clear. He had already helped to save her from Ron, in some odd way, in providing her an alibi, if Ron should have spoken, and he had saved her, in some small way, from Lady Whistledown. His only desire was not to marry. She would not push the Duke further.

“I shall have flowers arranged,” he finally said. “Expensive ones, for you and the Viscountess.”

She gave him a tight smile and a nod, then looked forward once more.

“Although…”

He paused after just that word, and she looked up at him, pausing in her steps with him, waiting for him to speak. He seemed to be thinking it over, and then a smirk curled over his lips.

“Although?” she asked, raising a brow. 

“Well, you see,” he said, moving closer to her slightly, her arm pressing into his side. “If you and I were truly courting, I would not send you flowers. I would only need five minutes alone with you, in the garden, much as we were last night. You would be mine before the final dance had even begun.”

He looked pleased with himself as he withdrew, a grin over his lips, and Hermione now understood the term  _ rakish _ . It had often been used to describe her father - that he wore a  _ rakish grin _ . 

Had that been what happened to her mother? Five minutes alone with Sirius Black in a garden, and he had her dress up and her dignity lost on the ground? Nine months later, her father was dead, her mother was soon to join him, and Hermione had been born, with nothing but the Potters to protect her.

At least Sirius Black had married her mama, but it was still not enough. Her mother had made a mistake, of that Hermione could be certain, and she had suffered for it, in the end, giving up her life.

Then again… Lily had always insisted it was not childbirth that killed her, but instead, a broken heart. Had Sirius felt the same way, or had he simply been looking for a good time?

She jerked her arm away from his, knowing that it was improper for her to do such a thing, but even more improper for him to say it. To even insinuate that she would… and after the night before…

She walked up onto the bridge, knowing he was a few steps behind her, and she paused at the top, leaning against the wall. He stood a pace away, close enough they could still share a conversation, but clearly granting her space.

“Did that offend you?” he asked, the rakish grin no longer on his lips when she looked at him.

Hermione sniffed, looking back down at the water, then up, towards the ducks, and further to the children playing near the water. She said nothing as she swallowed down her feelings about her parents, her fears that the same ruining would happen to her. If she had been found with Ron the previous evening… she would have had no choice but to marry him.

“I do not want a scandal,” she finally said, lifting her chin. “Nor even the hint of one. I must remain above all of it. I simply want to marry well, and then take a quiet life, doing as I will.”

The Duke moved closer, concern on his face as he looked down at her.

“Ah, so it is about the garden. You fear that you would have been ruined last night.”

“I still could be,” Hermione said quickly, lifting her chin. “Ronald… He has a childhood infatuation that is nearly obsession. It has caused a reaction in him I have never seen before. I do not know what he shall say next, but if he should spread that he and I were alone in the garden-”

“The two of you were nowhere near one another last night,” the Duke said quickly, his hand resting on the wall beside hers, only a few inches apart. “You and I spoke for some time, quietly, back away from the rest of the party, but within full view of it. I took up your entire evening. At what point would I have allowed Mr Weasley to take you from my side? Who would they believe? The sixth son of a Baron, or a Duke?”

Hermione’s lips pushed together, and she tried to believe him, but his words… they had come too close to home. Perhaps that was why Ron had followed her out there. In fact, given how he had grabbed at her… it likely was.

“I know that scandal is the backbone of the Ton,” Hermione said, turning to look up at him as she spoke. “But… I simply want to be on my way. I did not want a season at all, and would have avoided it if I could have.”

“But you wish to be married,” the Duke said, his voice a clear question.

She did not say anything for a moment, then looked down at a pair of ducks, floating together on the water. One was a beautiful set of colors, while the other was dark and plain. She knew what it was… a handsome male, and his plain mate.

Was that what she and the Duke looked like, she wondered. He, a handsome desirable Lord with a title and estates and land and wealth, while she… she was just a governess, a near spinster, hiding herself among them, not worthy of the attention she received…

“I…”

The Duke cleared his throat, and then his arm nudged against hers. He took a step back, then offered it to her. She looked at it, then up at him.

“You wish to have the security that a husband would give you,” he said as she took his arm. His words were calm, steady, and she knew what this was - he understood her, in some way.

She was not an idiot, in search of love and wealth and status… what she wanted… she wanted safety. The coin. The future. Not the lifestyle of someone married to someone great. What she wanted was control over her own life. Something that love could not grant her.

“Do you think me foolish, that I envy Lady Parkinson’s independence?” she asked, looking up at him.

The Duke was silent for a long moment, then shook his head. “I think… that Pansy paid a high price for her independence, and she sacrificed a lot for it. I just hope you know what you are doing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 6 will be up next Tuesday March 23rd. It will be titled "Suitors".
> 
> [Social Media Links](https://linktr.ee/melanoradrood)
> 
> For those of you that are not subscribed to me or do not follow any of my social media, I posted the Prologue to a new fic late Sunday night. It's an Eighth Year Dramione AU. The chapters are being posted as they are written, so it may seem like I'm working on that more, but really I'm not. I'm currently almost ten chapters ahead on writing for Bridgerton... But also, the chapters are MUCH shorter. It's titled simply : [NEED](https://archiveofourown.org/works/30053691/chapters/74010144).
> 
> A reminder of our cast:
> 
> Lucius Malfoy, Duke of Wiltshire, deceased  
> Narcissa Black Malfoy, Duchess of Wiltshire, deceased  
> Andromeda Black Tonks, Marchioness of Waterford  
> Draco Malfoy, Duke of Wiltshire  
> Pansy Parkinson Nott, Duchess of Nottingham, pref. Lady Parkinson  
> Harry Potter, Viscount  
> Ginevra Weasley Potter, Viscountess   
> Hermione Granger-Black, ward of Viscount Potter, known as Miss Hermione Potter


End file.
